New Friends, New Enemies
by Pingtunglong
Summary: What happens when Arthur's knights are joined by a fresh group of Sarmatians, who include a mysterious woman? Story follows Tristan's perspective. Set one year before the events of the movie, and leads up to the movie. T because I am paranoid. Tristan/OC later in the story. Now COMPLETE!
1. Dispatch from Rome

What happens when Arthur's knights are joined by a fresh group of Sarmatians, who include a mysterious woman? Story follows Tristan's perspective.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters Arthur and his knights. They are from the movie 'King Arthur'. I own the new characters introduced here. I have done some historiacal research for place names etc, and any inaccuracies are my own. This is my first piec of fiction. I had to write it after watching (incredulously) Tristan die.

Update as of 9/21/2012 – I wrote the entire story so fast (less than a month) that I missed out on acknowledging some of the sources so I am going to add some footnotes here and there. The movie, interestingly, is set in 452 AD, by which time major Roman military and administrative presence was already long gone, supposedly circa 410 AD. Britain started experiencing raiders (Saxons, Angles and Jutes) circa 450, so I am guessing that's the reason for the late date. By 460AD, Britain was thoroughly de-Romanized according to 'The Story of Britain' by Rebecca Fraser.

I loved this movie for more than a retelling of the Arthurian legend, great fighting, fabulous locations and of course, the hunky Mads Mikkelsen as Tristan! I find this movie compelling because it is set in a time when the Roman Empire was withdrawing from its provinces in Britain. The drama that was playing out in the empire at large was also doing so in Britain – that of old order giving way to new. Read on!

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Dispatch from Rome

It was a cool, crisp day in late fall when the knights filed into Arthur's meeting room, each taking his accustomed place around the huge round table. Once they were seated, the room seemed emptier than before. The knights somberly took stock of the empty seats of absent comrades. Unexpectedly, it seemed likely that some of those seats were to be filled, a thing that had never happened before.

The knights were Sarmatians, taken from their boyhood homes far away to the East at a young age to serve the Roman Empire. The youngest two were in early twenties, while the oldest was in his mid-thirties. They were bound to serve Rome for fifteen years before they would receive their discharge papers – their freedom, one more of which remained. But as Bors observed occasionally when he was drunk, most of them were already free, discharged from life – with honors. They lay in the grassy field outside the fort.

Tristan, the most reserved of the knights, took a casual look around the table. He was as interested as any of them, though the only one not to show any sign of it. To his left sat Galahad, the youngest and most impatient. Close to him fair-haired young Gawain, his usual companion and foil for his occasional black moods. The two had little memory of their boyhood homes and envied others who had been older when taken. Dagonet and Bors sat close together, unlikely companions. Dagonet, the knights' healer, was tall and strongly built, but quiet and thoughtful. Bors seemed to occupy more space than his large rotund frame actually did, on account of his loudness. The only outward trait they shared was a shaven head. Wiry Lancelot, dark haired and charming, was closest to Arthur, their leader. Arthur himself was an enigma, even to the observant Tristan. A Roman from his father's side and a Celt from his mother's, he was a Roman centurion, a devout Christian, and loyal to a Rome he would see for the first time after they were discharged from their duties at the Hadrian's Wall in Britain, northernmost territory of the Empire, where they had been stationed since the beginning of their service. Farthest from anyone else on either side sat Tristan, dark eyes peering out from behind unruly bangs framing high tattooed cheekbones and salt and pepper beard. He was the company's silent scout and the odd man out. He preferred it that way, choosing the company of his hawk and horse.

Arthur walked in through the door to his accustomed seat and gave them one of his grave smiles. The knights leaned forward with varying expressions of expectancy.

'My friends,' began Arthur, 'I know you have been waiting to hear more for sometime. Two months ago I received dispatch from Rome that a group of Sarmatian knights – like yourselves – stationed in the Eastern territories, close to Constantinople, were to be reposted. Their commanding officer and a number of their fellows had been killed while defending their post against Barbarians.' Arthur paused, and the knights shifted in their seats, feeling sympathy for these unknown knights, their brothers.

'Rome decided to abandon the outpost. The trade route it protected is being shifted through other, more defensible cities. The new commander will take the remaining infantry to his new post. The Sarmatians, however, are being sent here to add to our numbers for their remaining years of service.' Again he paused, and then added, 'they will be here within a week or so, five of them. That is all I know, at present.'

The knights looked around and there was a flurry of comments - from all except Tristan – around the table. He had found that someone else always asked the usual questions. Galahad liked to grouse that Tristan could look into people's souls and dissect their brains. The silent knight did not bother to tell him that listening and observing told far more and accurately than mystical powers.

Arthur raised his hand, and one by one, they fell silent.

'They may indeed have news of your home. However, they have recently experienced a great loss, and they will be settling into a new home after a long journey, I will ask you to help them find their bearings first. That is all.'

The knights had no serious questions, and Arthur had no more information, so they all rose to leave. Arthur looked at Lancelot and Lancelot inclined his head. After so many years they could read each other's silences. Arthur had more to say to his most trusted friend, counselor and devil's advocate. As Tristan was leaving, Arthur stayed him as well. Tristan stood to one side and waited for the rare chance to hear a conversation between Arthur and Lancelot.

'Well Lancelot, it is an occasion for celebration, but I must confess to some trepidation as well,' said Arthur as Lancelot walked towards him.

The knights had been together for so long they were each other's real family. Now they were to receive five strangers. How would these two groups learn each other's ways, find trust and become one? But that was Arthur's job, and Tristan was glad.

'What do you need me to do?' Lancelot asked.

'In addition to your regular duties, will you please take over the task of finding them their quarters, together if possible, and having the rooms made ready?' Arthur went on to talk about finding additional gear, weapons, winter clothes, lodging for horses and servants, rations for the cook, duty roster etc. Lancelot, with the help of Jols the manservant, performed administrative duties for Arthur. Arthur took his responsibilities of looking after his men, their families, the fort and the people he protected very seriously, to the occasional annoyance of his superiors in Eburacum in doing so. His men responded with loyalty and trust.

Lancelot nodded and Arthur clapped his shoulders, smiling. 'And it is not all clerical duties. We must also make them welcome with feasting and singing. Vanora can organize that.' Vanora was Bors' lover and the mother of his many children.

'I will tell Jols and Vanora, and get their quarters ready.' Lancelot took his leave of Arthur. Tristan stepped forward.

'Tristan,' said Arthur, sobering. 'We have not had trouble with the Woads for some time, but I want to make sure our friends do not get ambushed unexpectedly on their way here. I want you to keep an extra vigilant eye on the countryside for them, especially on the road they'll take from Eburacum. Reroute patrols if necessary.' Tristan nodded and strode out.

Author's notes:

I am assuming the site of Arthur's fort to be Cilurnum (Chesters), roughly near the middle of the Wall, closer to the East coast

Eburacum (York) to the south of the Wall was a regional capital

Sarmatia lies to the North of the Black Sea

Hadrian's Wall, which marked the extent of Rome to the North in Britain, was 73 miles long, with 14/15 forts, numerous mile-castles and turrets along the way. From 'Hadrian's Wall' by Embleton and Graham


	2. New Arrivals

Ten days later on a cold, windy morning, the expected party rode in. The knights had received word that the party had been sighted. They waited on the Wall, nervous and expectant. Tristan was with them also but to anyone who looked he seemed preoccupied with exercising his bird.

Soon the riders came into view, riding in a single file. There were six, five wearing helmets. They had a servant with them and two additional pack animals with their travel gear. They had obviously traveled light, presumably stopping at Roman outposts along the way for food and lodging.

As they came closer Tristan could see that the newcomers were also a wary, dusty lot, looking as though they were unsure of their welcome after their arduous journey, as well as impressed by the Wall they had no doubt heard much of. They slowed down as they came closer, looking around with interest at the small crowds gathered by the roadsides. Villagers and trades people had come to see this unprecedented event – new knights coming to the Wall. While Roman legionaries, identical in their bright red uniforms, came from and went to stations father south occasionally, the villagers could not remember a time when new knights appeared at the Wall. They were used to seeing only Arthur's knights riding by, and diminishing in number over the years.

The sentry on the Wall called out a challenge to the strangers, even though everyone knew perfectly well who they must be. The leader trotted his horse a little closer, looked up and answered in a clear voice into the sudden silence, 'I am Senna, in temporary charge of my company of Sarmatian knights, come to report for duty to Commander Arthur Castus.'

'Open the gates,' said Arthur quietly to the sentry and marched down the stairs to the courtyard, Lancelot and the others following in his wake. Tristan preferred to watch from above, unobtrusive and out of the way.

The gates to the fort courtyard were pulled open with ceremonious slowness and the newcomers filed through led by Senna, a serious looking thirty something man. Once they were all through, Senna dismounted and looked around for Arthur, their new commander. The others dismounted as well, and occupied themselves with soothing their horses, gladly leaving the task of introductions to Senna. Though they outwardly maintained an impassive mask, Tristan perceived edginess in their movements.

Arthur walked forward to receive his new charges. 'I am Arthur Castus, Commander of this outpost. We have been expecting you. I hope you had an agreeable journey.' He added courteously. Arthur was always cautious to form opinions of strangers.

Senna tucked his helmet under his left arm and formally saluted Arthur with a right arm clasped to the chest. 'Sir, I am Senna, in temporary command of my fellows.' He gestured back to them and the knights behind him took off their helmets.

There was an audible murmur from onlookers as the last of the knights, second rider from the rear, was revealed to be a woman. Tristan looked closer to see that she was dressed differently as well, in light leather armor not breast plates and armed lightly. She was of medium height with a small, tight braid of hair. Her darker complexion and almond eyes elicited further comments and nudges. She looked around calmly as though she was used to such stares; she probably was, he judged.

Senna gestured his fellows to come forward and they did. As he introduced each of them, they saluted their new commander and bowed their heads respectfully. There were really four Sarmatian knights including Senna – Percy, Eric and Gault being the others. Senna introduced the woman last.

'This is Dani,' said Senna and added quietly, 'She has been serving with our company under our late commander for many years'. Dani bowed her head and touched her forehead. The crowd grew silent to hear Arthur speak.

'You are tired and hungry. Lancelot,' Arthur smiled, gesturing to the handsome curly haired knight, 'will show you to your quarters, where you may refresh yourselves. He has arranged for your first meal in your quarters. We will meet in the evening. Welcome to your new home.' Arthur left them to Lancelot.

Arthur's knights restrained themselves from coming forward, letting Lancelot settle his charges. The crowd slowly dispersed as Lancelot led the newcomers in the direction of the stable with a speculative smile towards the woman. Sarmatians always saw to their horses first. The woman looked up and met Tristan's gaze with eyes as inscrutable as his own, before turning to follow her friends.


	3. Introductions

Author's notes: my information on the geography of the Roman Empire comes from a couple of great books: 'Life in Ancient Rome' by Adkins and Adkins, and 'Atlas of the Roman World' by Cornell and Matthews. Excellent reading if you are so inclined!

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That evening as Arthur's knights took their places at the round table, there was an air of suppressed excitement. In addition to the four new Sarmatian knights, they were curious about the mystery woman. Arhur and all the knights except Lancelot were there, dressed for formal occasion, and a servant moved around pouring drinks, and readying refreshments for the newcomers. Tristan once more sat back to quietly observe.

Lancelot walked in ahead of the five, who came to halt inside in a cluster as they were confronted with a round table. Arthur stood up and his knights followed to show respect to their new comrades.

'Welcome,' said Arthur. 'You may seat yourselves as you please. We are all equals here.' If his eyes lingered a little puzzled on the woman, he gave no other sign. He waited while the company walked around choosing seats close to each other. By chance the woman took a seat close to Tristan. He watched her with sideways glances through his bangs and scratched the beard.

'It has been many years since we had this many around the table,' smiled Arthur. 'Allow me to introduce my fellows.' Arthur called each of his knights' names. The knights smiled or said 'welcome'. Bors and Galahad were more expressive.

'Welcome to the armpit of the Empire. I hope your last post was more interesting than this.' Bors said as he raised his glass. This released nervous laughter and Galahad joined in. 'This is where they send you to be buried.'

'So how long do you have left?' asked Gawain.

'What news of home?' Galahad cut in impatiently.

Arthur held up his hand and the hubbub subsided. 'Senna, will you please introduce your fellows again?'

Senna called out their names and tribal affiliation – Percy, Eric and Gault – and they raised their hands or smiled. The last was the woman, Dani. She looked around and inclined her head to everyone in general.

'We have served ten years in outposts near the Western bank of Black Sea, Commander, and have five more years left.' Senna explained in his quiet way. Tristan noticed that he was the natural leader, Eric and Gault being too young, Percy being too dour, and the woman being still a mystery. Tristan was drawn to mysteries.

'We served with Commander Julianus Marcus up until the last ill-fated mission against Visigoth invaders. He was a fine commander and a good man. They were too many and we were too few, that was all.' He finished with pain in his voice.

'What tribes are you from?' Lancelot asked changing the topic. The four Sarmatians called out their tribal affiliations, sitting up straight with pride. The knights turned to the woman.

Galahad stated the obvious, 'You are not Sarmatian.' 'Neither knight,' said the woman.

'Where are you from?' Galahad questioned. Arthur's knights leaned forward.

'I was born to the Kizigai tribe, a nomadic people of Persia, beyond Constantinople and South of the Black Sea, where the border between Rome and Persia changes daily,' said Dani, laughing lightly as she explained. She seemed to know this would elicit more questions and it did.

'If you were born outside the territories, why are you in service of Rome?' asked Galahad again.

Dani looked to Senna and received a nod. The knights' curiosity about their new fellows would have to be satisfied before they were fully accepted among them. Dani was always a curiosity.

'I volunteered to serve Rome.' She said, as eyebrows went up.

Author's notes:

Senna's group had previously been posted in a legionary camp on the Danube north of the Balkan Mountains (modern day Bulgaria). This area was the empires' border to the North in this region.

Dani's people, a fictional Persian nomadic tribe, come from the area of modern day Armenia. This area was the border between Rome and ancient Persia, with cities on either side controlled by Roman and Persian empires. It was a somewhat fluid border as the Persian Sassanids were an aggressive enemy of the Eastern Roman empire.


	4. Explantions

'When I was much younger, a group of my tribesmen including myself were caught by a Roman patrol within the boundaries of Rome. They challenged us and we fought back. Neither had the advantage of the other and we both suffered losses. The patrol was impressed with our fighting skills and both sides wanted to avoid further losses. We were close to the border beyond which was our home, and our leader negotiated with the commander of the Roman patrol. One warrior from our tribe would be given in exchange for the safe conduct of the rest back to the border. That was me.' She finished looking around clearly expecting more questions. Only her eyes showed her amusement.

'Why you?' Lancelot asked, smiling warmly, never one to pass up the chance of charming a woman.

Dani hesitated. Tristan could see that even her fellows were interested; it seemed to be news to them as well. Dani had secrets.

'In my tribe, I had committed a crime, for which I would have been cast out. I volunteered in place of the one who was chosen. My way of atonement.' Dani said calmly as though she confessed to heinous crimes everyday. The knights looked shocked, all except Tristan. He looked stoic as ever but the corners of his mouth lifted. This woman finds amusement in shocking others, he realized.

Percy surprised them by interrupting.

'Sir,' he said addressing Arthur, 'Dani has served with us for nearly eight years. Until today I did not know what Dani just said. What I do know is that she has fought with us, starved with us and bled with us. She may not be a knight but she is one of us.' Dani gave him a smile, warm and grateful, and Percy's eyes softened momentarily

'Percy speaks for us all, Sir,' Senna added in his quiet voice. Eric and Gault nodded their agreement. It was clear that they too were a family and they were concerned on her behalf. Tristan alone noticed that Senna alone did not look shocked at Dani's confession.

Arthur decided to move on. 'Senna, I am curious, why did they send you all the way across the Empire to Britain? You have come a very long way.'

Senna took a deep breath and answered. 'After Commander Marcus' death, the decision came to repost military personnel elsewhere.' He hesitated slightly. 'We were too few in number to make an effective cavalry unit. After some deliberation, we were sent here to join you. We also heard that regular troops were being recalled from here.' He finished with a questioning look.

'That remains to be seen,' nodded Arthur. Regular troops were being recalled from the Wall, and auxiliaries were being sent as replacement, and sometimes not. 'But I am still surprised that the new commander would not want to retain your experience.'

Dani spoke up unexpectedly. 'Let me answer Senna, as I have already been quite candid.' She glanced around the room. Senna shrugged, Eric and Gault looked down at the table, Percy was as dour as ever.

'Our new commander, Justinus Alba, trusts us as little as we respect him,' she said succinctly, clearly enjoying the shock her announcement produced. 'We were a problem he inherited and didn't know what to do with, so he has passed us on to you, a commander known for his ability to manage Sarmatians and other Barbarian scum.' She finished gravely, laughing with her eyes.

That explains the tension, thought Tristan as he processed this. Their journey had not just been long, but also to an uncertain end. He could see Arthur do the same.

Gault had had enough. He jumped up. 'Is everything an amusement to you, Dani?' Dani shrugged and drank from her glass. Gault sat back down with a frown. He tended to be serious outside of a tavern.

Dani shrugged once more. 'Was my assessment not accurate?' she asked Senna.

'We have known Commander Alba as a junior officer and there is no love between him and ourselves.' Senna admitted. 'He knows we do not respect him and therefore he cannot trust us. However we have done nothing to discredit ourselves and have still five years of service left. So he arranged for us to be sent here, as far away from him as possible, but at the same time making himself look good.' He looked to Arthur. 'We would like to chance to complete our service and earn our discharge, Sir.' He said quietly.

Senna and his remaining fellows had been traded like goods to a post across the Empire because their new commander did not want them. They were in a new country, waiting to be accepted and trusted by a new commander. Without trust in each other and the bonds of brotherhood, life in a frontier post could be short and harsh. Senna and his fellows wanted to be alive for the five years it would take for them to complete their service.

'What a way to treat you after ten years of service and the deaths of your brothers!' Bors exclaimed. The others too looked appalled.

'Roman scum!' Gawain screwed up his face in disgust. Galahad nodded tightlipped.

'My friends,' said Arthur, 'I regret that you were uprooted one more time, that too after your recent loss. I accept your commissions and commend your loyalty to your late commander. I hope to earn it for myself. If I leave before your service is up, I shall be responsible to find new posts for you.' He stood up and everyone followed, glad to end the tension. Senna released an audible sigh and smiled with genuine warmth. The worry about finding acceptance for their group, Dani included, had been weighing on him.

'Let us sojourn and meet for dinner. An informal feast has been arranged for you, so you may all become acquainted, and meet everyone else.' With a nod Arthur left the meeting room and the two groups of knights clustered around each other, finally talking, asking questions and making jokes. Dani stood apart from the group, Tristan noticed, as did he. Interesting, he thought intrigued, another outcast for all her jokes and bold speaking. Just then, Dani again returned his stare and her quirked eyebrow showed that she had not been unaware of his interest.


	5. At the Tavern

That evening there was much laughter and joking at the tavern, the knights' gathering place for quiet evenings. The company of knights sat around a large table while Vanora bustled about serving them food and drinks.

Arthur's knights found the newcomers a likeable group, although they were somewhat flustered at Dani. Aside from barmaids and civilians like Vanora, the knights were unused to a woman in their midst. Dani smiled at Galahad's gallantry, Gawain's witticism, Bor's loud jokes and Lancelot's charm, but seemed happy to leave making conversation to Eric and Gault, as were the dour Percy and reserved Senna. Eric and Gault warmed quickly to Galahad and Gawain, being of similar age and temperament. As ale flowed, it seemed to Tristan who was seated in a shadowed corner, as though the four young knights had known each other for years.

Soon tongues had loosened considerably and questions previously held back were asked.

'What news of Sarmatia?' pressed Galahad. The exiles in Britain turned to hear, tension in their faces and postures.

'I am sorry, brother,' said Senna gently. 'The Eastern territories are in turmoil; incursions by Visigoths, Goths, Vandals and others of their like a regular occurrence. We stayed away from the Northern borders and the sea coast lest we got drawn into battles not our own to fight.'

'We had to concentrate on crossing the continent with a whole skin.' Added Gault.

'People all over Eastern territories are rising up, maybe even Sarmatians,' supplied Eric with a glance toward Roman soldiers at the next table.

'Rumor has it that Rome has been sacked, more than once,' Dani added with the air of one imparting a scandalous secret. Mouths fell open and more than one choking sound was heard.

The British knights digested this news in stunned silence. Their faces showed a range of emotions – shock, incredulity, confusion, satisfaction, even anger. Their thoughts turned to people left behind whose fates could only be speculated upon. Tristan thought about how insular they had become on this island. He doubted even Arthur knew as much.

'Arthur has asked me for a detailed report of what we have seen once we are settled in, perhaps even tomorrow.' Said Senna. His eyes looked far away and sad. 'We have ridden through towns left in ruin. Roman towns, but homes and lives of innocent people.' This had the effect of sobering all of them, even Dani.

'Well, I'll be damned if I spend time worrying like a woman. Two!' Bors bellowed to break the gloom. 'Where's my food, girl?' His eldest daughter, Two, ran off to the kitchen.

Gawain turned them away from the subject by challenging Eric and Gault to a game of knife throwing, two against two with Galahad. The others shook themselves as if coming out of a bad dream, and turned away to watch the game, order more food or in the case of Lancelot, look for an available barmaid.

Authr's note:

Barbarian invasions into Roman territories date from the third century.

Rome was sacked by Alaric the Visgoth in 410 AD.

Senna's group traveled along less populous routes and missed actual skirmishes.


	6. New Life

Over the next few weeks, Senna and his group settled in. Arthur's knights were invigorated by the additions to their ranks. Although in service to Rome, the Sarmatian knights had little in common with the Roman auxiliary infantrymen stationed at the fort under Arthur's command. They spent much of the off duty hours in each other's company and sometimes tended to get on each other's nerves. Galahad in particular often sniped at Tristan, and Tristan had gotten into the habit of snapping back instead of letting it slide indifferently as he used to in the past when there were more knights and tensions more diffuse.

Tristan remained quietly observing, speaking when spoken to and often out scouting, but he was pleased that the boisterous younger knights kept each other occupied. Dagonet discovered that Percy was a notable surgeon, as skilled in setting bones as he himself was in herblore, and the two of began spending much time together, to the annoyance of Bors and the amusement of others. Senna had a natural aptitude for administrative work and spent time with Arthur helping to run the fort. Arthur's new men came to respect their commander within a short time.

Eric and Gault were happy to share stories of adventures on their recent journey, often embellishing them outrageously for the audience of barmaids, Vanora's children and hangers on. They laughingly made up mythical monsters and the audience shrieked in response, not sure whether to believe the tall stories. Galahad groused that the barmaids now found him dull, and Gawain agreed. Lancelot tried to puncture their stories by going after facts, which resulted in more embellishments. Soon Eric and Gault had trouble keeping their stories straight but no one cared.

It was becoming Tristan's habit to observe Dani covertly when he was at the fort, and he told himself it was because he was bored. One evening while watching Lancelot flirt with her, he observed that she gave away very little about herself, despite being agreeable company. After her candid revelations of the first day, she seemed uninterested in divulging any more. As the knights asked no direct questions and she was adept at vague answers, this was not difficult. Her friends said very little about her as well; it was clear that they cared for her.

She was a chameleon, he decided one day. She bantered with Gawain and Galahad, told Eric and Gault they were liars, flirted occasionally with Lancelot, chuckled at Bor's weak jokes. Sometimes she sat with Dagonet and Percy at a separate table, listening intently to their discussion of healing, asking questions that the two seemed pleased to answer. He knew that she was helping to grow healing herbs and he was learning to associate her with a faint aroma of the herb garden. She made friends with Vanora, quickly disarming the woman by offering to help make bread or laughingly arbitrating the children's mock battles. With him she was silent as though reflecting his own personality.

During practice sessions when the knights sparred with blunted weapons, it became a game for the four younger knights to exchange sparring techniques and test the new weapons brought by Senna's group. A practice field was set up with random targets where knights could practice with weapons at full gallop wearing armor. It turned out that Senna's group were not adept with bows and arrows as they were used to relying on infantry bowmen. Tristan was charged with teaching them to shoot on foot and horseback. In return, Senna's group taught the others to wield light but deadly spears from horseback.

Dani practiced alone, as her weapon was not the knight's usual sword or her brothers' spear. Arthur's knights were intrigued when she first showed them the chanokh, two curved bone handled short blades at either end of a long cord made of horse hair, leather and sinew braided together. Metal clasps dotted the length of the cord, similar to the ones on her hair. She wore it wrapped several times around one shoulder. The two blades fit into the opposite handles and the foot length of the handles themselves were carried snug diagonally across her chest. She could wield it using either handle, passing from one hand to the other, with deadly accuracy and grace, as well as swiftness.

In answer to Galahad's query she explained that men of her tribe wielded chanokhs having spiked clubs or axes from horseback for war, and spears for the hunt. Hers was a woman's weapon, lighter and longer, used for defense and distraction. As usual she seemed to find amusement in the explanation while demonstrating the use of it, slicing an apple thrown in the air into several pieces while twirling her body and the weapon around with deceptive slowness. Everyone was impressed, even Tristan, though he did not show it. It took considerable expertise not to slice or behead oneself, having to be constantly ahead of the out-flung blade. She would throw up an arm to wrap the cord around it, catching the blade with a twist of her wrist, or let the cord slide through her hands, grabbing the handle as it passed through. He was unwillingly mesmerized by her sensuous dance with the deadly blades but had seldom occasion to speak with her as she had declined the offer to learn archery. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

Author's notes:

The idea of the 'chanokh' comes from the chain weapon used by the character Raizo in the movie 'Ninja Assassin'. I imagined Dani's weapon being a defensive one for inflicting damage while backing away from a larger adversary.

Sorry about the winded narrative. Trying to flesh out the new characters


	7. Winter Hunting

Fall was coming to an end; the air itself had brittle quality. Soon the knights would have respite from worrying about the Woads. Winter was the greater enemy for both forest dwelling Woads and farming communities of Celts. Expeditions meant surplus rations, and Woads never had so much surplus rations that they could send out large raiding parties to harass the Romano Celtic settlements South of the wall. The occasional band of raiders was more desperate than organized, looking to raid an unguarded granary or cache of winter's meat.

Arthur's knights looked forward to hunting to supplement grain rations, feasts around firesides and the respite from killing Woads. If the Sarmatians were not bound in Rome's service, they would sympathize with the natives who were defending their country from Rome.

Senna's group looked forward to getting better acquainted with their new home in the relative peace of winter. It was Arthur's custom to send out the knights in parties of two or three to other fort-towns along the Wall. It was his way of keeping himself informed of the Imperial frontier he was in charge of, and it gave the knights a break from routine patrol and peace keeping in town. The more sociable of them enjoyed being Arthur's emissaries on these missions. Tristan was not one of them.

The silent knight waited for winter for a different reason - to be alone in the woods with his hawk, tracking errant Woads on the snow. He enjoyed winter hunting; the snow deadened forest sounds and accentuated those made by Woads unfortunate enough to cross his path, and the denuded vegetation offered little shelter or hiding for them. Contrary to Galahad's charges he did not take pleasure in killing unless attacked, but he knew the terror he kindled in his prey when they knew he was hunting, and he derived a grim amusement in the knowledge. It was the outlet for the self-contained scout, as wine and women were for the others.

This year he looked forward to his forays alone for another reason, to think through his fascination with the woman. She had a core of self-containment that he was drawn to but did not know how to approach. So he was taken aback when Dani approached him one day and requested to come along. It was the first she had spoken more than a few words to him since they arrived.

She had a talent that Arthur wished to make use of. As a woman, it had been easier for her to mingle with townspeople and tradesmen, and ferret out dissenters and outsiders among natives. This was common enough in a Roman town, as natives resented their overlords. Arthur knew, as they all did, hostile Woads sometimes found refuge with sympathetic townsmen South of the Wall. Briton civilians tended to avoid both Roman soldiers, foreigners they loathed, and knights, warriors they found intimidating. It made Arthur's self-appointed task of keeping peace difficult. It made sense for Dani to learn about them and Arthur had agreed. Tristan said he would think about it.

Tristan found her later at the stable, brushing down her horse, a rather small dappled gelding quite unlike the other horses in the stall. A saddle hung from a peg, lighter than the one used by the Sarmatians. Sarmatians were a horse people, and the way someone cared for his horse spoke volumes to them. He leaned against a stall to watch as Dani curried the horse and spoke soothing words in her own tongue. The little gelding was past his prime, he could plainly see, but well cared for and returned his mistress' affection with stoic loyalty.

'Your people let you keep your horse.' He stated. Tristan seldom asked questions.

'My weapons as well.' She replied. After a short silence, she continued, 'in my tribe, if ever a warrior is cast out, his weapons are given back to fire and elements. They are bad luck for anyone else. Besides,' she added with a humorless laugh, 'my tribe was giving Rome a warrior, not a beggar.' He was surprised at her willingness to share information, but guessed that she wanted him to be at ease with her.

'I know I should have left him - he's too old,' she sighed. 'But I could not. Soon I will have to find another to train.' Giving the horse a final pat, she turned and asked briskly, 'How do I go about acquiring a new horse?'

Tristan reflected with some humor that Lancelot would like to help her with that, but instead said, 'Arthur has a man who breeds horses, some hours ride South. I can take you there to pick out a colt, unless you want one of the extras from Jols.'

Dani smiled at him with genuine warmth. 'Would you? I would like to train my own. It's what I did with Merak.'

'Be here at dawn tomorrow. We return by nightfall.' Tristan turned and left.

He wondered why he did that. He felt unsettled in her company. His experience of women was almost entirely limited to those who catered to the needs of off duty soldiers, and seldom was there need for conversation during those infrequent encounters. Toward them, he felt no emotion other than a temporary urge, and for respectable women he had no use. Dani elicited a different response, certainly not a protective one as some men felt towards a special woman. But then, she was not exactly a respectable woman and he hardly knew her. Well, if he had to take her scouting, might as well get used to her company. At least she did not chatter. She was a loner, he realized, and wondered if her apparent amusement at the world was a mask similar to his own indifference to it.


	8. Horse Country

They rode in silence, heading Southeast towards hill country, with Tristan's hawk flying overhead. Every spring, horses gave birth and there was a crop of two and three year olds. Dani could make her selection now and old Mathis, the breeder, would make sure the horse was ready for her to bring back in spring.

If Dani was embarrassed from last night's teasing, she gave no sign. Tristan had to tell Lancelot to arrange for payment for the horse. Then of course Lancelot had to open his big mouth at dinner. Gawain and Galahad teased Tristan; it was unlike him to volunteer his time. Eric offered to chaperone; Dani was like a big sister, and he sometimes chafed at her fussing, so he jumped at the chance to return the favor. Gault told him a crone like her needed no chaperone. Bors loudly demanded that they be left alone, with much winking. Lancelot protested that he was much better company. Dani laughed at them and Tristan ignored them.

This far South of the Wall they were unlikely to encounter Woads, and bandits preferred easier victims than armed and watchful knights, so it was a relaxing, companionable journey through a light drizzle. Tristan was reminded of a journey he had made long ago with Bedwyr, all the way to Calleva for a few days. Arthur was able to spare them more often back then as there had been more men and less trouble. In the intervening years, fifteen homesick boys had dwindled away to five hardened men. He still made trips South occasionally for Arthur; a few months ago he had been sent to Eburacum to schedule patrols to protect grain shipments to forts along the Wall. It had been a cheerless journey with no reason to linger. Tristan shook away the thought as they topped a rise and a makeshift fence came into view. A horse could easily jump over it but mares with foals were unlikely to do so. They were content to remain within its ample boundaries.

Old Mathis was glad for company. He lived with the horses and cared for them as his own children but it was a lonesome occupation. He was proud of his foals and happy to answer Dani's questions as she inspected half a dozen candidates before selecting one. Dani could be as charming as Lancelot when she wanted, Tristan discovered with mild surprise. He wondered what it would be like to have the charm directed at him. He was pleased when she sought his advice with the filly she chose.

They spent a little more time at the pasture watching the mares with foals born last spring. He found himself laughing with her at the antics of the frisky youngsters. He had not felt this lighthearted in a long time. Somehow it felt right to share laughter with Dani; he knew she would not tell the others or tease.

By the time they stopped for a midday meal of dried meat and bread on the way back, there was a tentative camaraderie between them. The hawk watched her warily as she perched on her master's gloved hand and ate strips of meat. To his own surprise, he broke the companionable silence.

'What was your country like?' Tristan asked abruptly.

She was silent for a long moment, smiling up at the overcast sky and ever-present drizzle. He thought she would ignore him.

'Dry, and hardly any cloud in the sky.' She replied wryly.

'Rough terrain, rough vegetation,' She continued softly after a while, looking into the middle distance. 'We lived in scattered villages tending small orchards and flocks. Hunting parties were out all year, sometimes staying away for weeks. Some tribes raided in lean seasons so everyone trained to fight. Protecting our homes while the hunters were away meant life or death by starvation. Sometimes slavers would sneak in to grab an unattended child.' The mask of amusement had fallen away.

'What about you?' She changed the topic. 'You will be free in less than a year. Will you go to Sarmatia? The knights talk of nothing else.' She made a face.

Tristan was old enough to remember home but when he thought about it, he felt ambivalent, so he always put off any decisions, reasoning that it was too far in the distance to think about.

'I don't know,' he said finally. 'I have had no news of my family or tribe.' No one knew if they even survived under Roman occupation.

Tristan privately wondered if he would remain a loner even if he returned and found his family. No doubt his younger siblings would be married. He could not imagine taking a wife although in his tribe a man was a father many times over by his age. Being Arthur's man at arms was a life he had grown used to. It was not a comforting thought. Introspection gave him a headache as well as a heartache.

'Would you go home, if you could?' he asked.

'I cannot go home. I am dead to my people,' Dani said without looking at him. 'In my country, an outcast finds quick death from the elements because none will give him shelter.'

'We should go back.' She stood up, ending the conversation. 'Lancelot's dinner will be dull without me.' The flippancy was back.

As they swung into their saddles and headed back to Badon Fort, Tristan felt his loneliness ease. His brothers cared for him, would die for him, but he knew they also feared and misunderstood him, all except perhaps Arthur and Lancelot. He had found another soul who did not burden him with questions or expectations, who did not fear him and who was content to keep silent company. He looked forward to winter.

Author's note:

Calleva is modern day Silchester.

The idea of Arthur keeping a horse breeder comes from Rosemary Sutcliff's 'Sword at Sunset'.


	9. Comrades

That winter the unlikely pair grew closer as they went on a few scouting trips together. The younger knights teased them at first but grew bored when the teasing failed to rile either of them. Dani was quick to learn tracking, following trails of game and people, in the misty forests of North Britain. Tristan had been tracking for so long it was second nature to him but it became a game once more while she honed her skills.

To his surprise, Tristan found himself opening up. While never a voluble soul, he had not always been so silent either. When Bedwyr had been alive, they had been close. Tristan had even laughed sometimes at the bawdy songs Bedwyr sang on his harp. Bedwyr's death in battle three years ago had deprived the knights of song, and Tristan of his only close friend. Not able to express himself, he had become silent instead. He had killed Woads with a vengeance for a while, and became feared among them. But now he could no longer feel the anger or hatred that sustained him for a while. It was just what he had to do to survive.

When they made camp, Tristan found himself offering her some information or volunteering a comment from time to time. Perhaps it was the solitude of the woods – it was like talking to oneself. She was a restful companion.

Once she was watching him tend his hawk. 'I have seen her kind,' she said, 'on the continent.'

'I found her on my journey here,' Tristan replied. 'She was taken too young, and the trapper feared she would die. He gave her away. I was able to save her.' The hawk had never left him.

For all their camaraderie, they consciously refrained from looking at each other as man and woman, alone. They spoke without looking at each other. Occasionally Tristan studied her through his unruly braids, aware of her lean, competent body and arresting face, but studiously avoided following that train of thought. He knew women thought him attractive. But what Dani thought she kept to herself.

From time to time she spoke - about hunting wily mountain goats, a pet one-eyed crow she once had that flew in circles, sweet fig cakes her people loved that stuck to the teeth, foibles of Roman officials at the Eastern frontier – humorous observations for the most part. He laughed out loud at her description of decurion Alba losing his crested helmet to a band of Barbarians - beardless boys out on a dare - who made off with their prize, whooping and cackling, mightily impressed with themselves. He had given chase until an arrow zinging by too close to his unprotected head made him realize that his shining pate made an attractive target. His mood was not improved on return when he found off duty Sarmatians, also boys, likewise whooping and cackling on the fort wall, having witnessed his futile efforts. It was neither first nor last of many incidents that had soured Alba towards the Sarmatians in his charge in the cavalry. She had a keen eye for details and a talent for seeing humor. But working among men had taught her to keep her femininity muted. Only with Senna and her surviving comrades, and now with Tristan, she felt comfortable enough to let down her guard, a little. He found it a precious gift and was reluctant to press for more.

They came across few Woads. The natives they encountered were hunters and trappers, storytellers and entertainers traveling between villages. There was an air of wariness on both sides during these encounters. Natives tended to present a bland face to men from the great Wall.

On one occasion, they came across an upset cart belonging to a caravan of supplies. It was blocking the narrow forest lane. Animal pelts, hooves and skins of fat had tumbled out. It was a likely party to encounter. Tribesmen often slaughtered extra animals towards the start of winter for often there was not enough feed for the entire flock. The tribe kept the meat and sold extra skins, fats, bones, horns etc to be made into leather and tools.

Tristan and Dani reined in their horses and stood for a moment before Tristan shrugged and dismounted to offer his shoulder to the half dozen men straining to right the cart. His time with Dani had made him marginally more social. Children and women stood in a cluster watching their men. Their eyes grew round as the silent knight handed his sword and sheath to Dani and put his shoulder to the cart. Dani kept a careful watch on the woods.

After the cart had been put to right and while its contents were being piled back, the leader of the caravan stepped forward to thank Tristan.

'Where are you headed?' asked Dani, offering a disarming smile. By now she spoke the native pidgin, a mix of Celtic and Pictish that all travelers understood.

'Just a short way, to Badon Fort. We have supplies for the commander. Are you not his men?' This was asked doubtfully as the man eyed Dani. She was most definitely a woman, though wearing woolen tunic and breeches.

'Yes we are.' Dani smiled some more and ran her eye over the group. Sizing up people was something she was used to. Her eye was drawn to a man to the back of the crowd. He did not fit into the group. She looked fleetingly at Tristan and he nodded. He gave the man a long look, knowing that men found his stare unnerving.

'Well, we will not keep you.' Said Dani cheerfully and the caravan moved along to Badon Fort, where they would probably winter. Once more they were alone.

'I am going to look him up when we return,' mused Dani thoughtfully. 'Something about him…'

'Something greasy,' said Tristan shortly.

Author's note:

Decurion was a Roman cavalry officer in charge of ten horsemen

Roman forts extracted foodstuffs and other goods from the people in conquered territories as tax.


	10. New Mission

Soon after they returned, Arthur called Tristan. He had been hearing reports of a new threat, pirates from the sea along the Northeast coast. Small bands of pirates would land on unguarded shores, travel inland to kill villagers and loot whatever they could carry away. All they heard was hearsay and rumor; no one had actually met a survivor, but that made the stories all the more plausible. Terror was contagious. Tradesmen and farmers were quietly terrified and a steady trickle of people poured in from nearby villages, looking for safety at Badon and other fortified outposts along the Wall. It did not help that Rome had been withdrawing regular troops from the Wall to stations farther South. Arthur wanted to find out if they rumors were real. He needed the scout to travel to the coast North of the Wall.

'Will you take Dani? I can spare her but it's your decision.' Arthur said. 'You have been training her.'

Tristan considered. North was Woad country and the danger was great, but on a mission that would take several days, two heads were better than one, and he had taught her all he could of scouting and tracking. He felt some misgivings thinking that he had never seen her face enemies in a battle, but she had seen enough fighting with Senna.

'Yes,' he replied.

'Good. I'll leave the details to you. Get what you need from Jols,' Said Arthur. 'And Tristan, be safe old friend.'

Dani was gone for the next several days. Tristan spent the time finding what information he could about North country, requisitioning supplies for an extended trip and getting a horse for Dani. Her little gelding would not be up to the task.

When Dani did not appear at Vanora's tavern for several days and the knights asked Tristan about his partner, he shrugged. He knew they speculated on their relationship. He speculated himself. When they were back at the fort, the two of them did not speak much as Tristan reverted to his silent self.

One evening Dani came back to the tavern for dinner. She was still dressed in one of the gowns she wore during her forays into town, a couple of daggers hidden in discreet pockets Tristan knew. Lancelot eyed her appreciatively and whistled. The simple blue gown and wide leather belt accentuated her lithe figure and exotic coloring. Her hair was swept up in a knot and her neck showed to advantage. A few faded scars that showed added to the appeal.

'You're a sight for sore eyes.' Lancelot couldn't stop flirting any more than he could stop breathing. 'Where have you been?'

'Visiting a friend, an innkeep's wife in town.' Replied Dani, laughing. She had some women friends and it was nothing new for her to be visiting town. She passed some herb packages to Dagonet.

'And you didn't take us?' asked Galahad.

'And deprive Vanora of her customers?' boomed Bors and laughed at his own joke.

'What were the wenches like?' asked Gawain. By now the men had become comfortable with Dani and treated her as one of them.

'Now Gawain, I was not looking at the wenches.' Smiled Dani. 'I am hungry. Vanora, I have decided: your stew is best after all.' Vanora blushed as the men chimed in as well. This changed the conversation.

Later that night, there was a knock on Tristan's door and he was surprised to see her. She had never come to his room before. He opened the door and then hastily grabbed a short tunic. She pretended not to notice and sat down on a chest, which was the only furniture besides a bed in the small spare cell he slept in. A few hooks on the wall and a couple of niches held his meager belongings.

'You have news,' said Tristan, stating the obvious, news she could not share at dinner.

'I went to the tanner's quarters and asked about the men who brought supplies a few days ago.' She began. 'I found them easily enough but it took a little longer to find the man. To make a long story short, he was no tanner. He claimed he was a trader from near Vindolanda and joined the caravan for protection. He was lying.'

'Because…?'

'I didn't see him peddling anything. Besides, he reeked of the sea, but I doubt he was a fisherman either. Flora the innkeep's wife told me that he paid in silver denarii.' She looked at him sharply. 'I can see it rings a bell for you.'

Tristan mulled over it for a while and then told her about the new mission Arthur had entrusted him with. 'Pirates, from the East Coast,' he added slowly, 'may be using a scout to infiltrate the forts.'

'And paying with looted silver,' she finished. Neither of them mentioned the obvious – that the Romans were the only forces capable of withstanding an organized band of pirates, if there were any.

'I should have gone with you. I know how to make one talk,' he said.

'You would have scared him off.' She said smiling. 'You even scare the knights. He let slip that he is leaving soon. We will follow him.'

'Then I must assign someone to watch him at all times.'

'I already have. Flora's chambermaids, the taproom wenches and Madame Julia's girls next door are all keeping an eagle eye on him, and his purse. They are a lot less conspicuous than a heavy footed, thick jawed legionnaire.' He had to chuckle as she slowly crossed her eyes and thumped a fist to the chest in Roman salute. Then the chuckle lengthened into silent mirth as he considered the army of women conspiring to lighten the unknown man of his ill-gotten gains.

Neither of them noticed when the shared laughter passed and the warmth changed in quality. In the awkward silence that followed, Tristan was aware of her sitting next to his bed, wearing a rather form fitting dress and exuding a subtle herb scent. She was looking down and fingering a thread on her sleeve. He wondered how she would look without the dress. She flushed as if she could read his mind. Tristan smiled. She was not as immune to him as she made herself appear. She seemed to be waiting; he wished he had Lancelot's gift for words. Then the moment passed, and she bade him good night and left, still not looking him in the eye.

Author's note:

Vindolanda is modern day Chesterham, West of Cilurnum, near the center of the Wall.

The silver denarius was the currency of the several centuries. Beginning with the 1st century it was being debased (devalued by mixing base metals or reduced in weight). Increased military and bureaucratic expenditure led to its continued debasement, finally leading to currency collapse. By end of third century AD, the silver denarius was no longer minted, and bronze and copper coins became common currency. Silver denarii gradually disappeared from circulation as people started hoarding them.


	11. Preparations

Author's note:

I hope you like the descriptions of the fort. Roman forts had no women save the fort commander's wife and household servants. Families of soldiers lived in village or town outside the fort with other civilians. Arthur has a more relaxed attitude but I wanted to fit in Dani in a way that sounds reasonable. So please bear with the long narrative!

I hope you also like my portrayal of Tristan. I think of him as a thoughtful, observant man who is attracted to mysteries. He has a keen sense of humor but being deeply private, shares it with only a close friend. Alas, he is a fighter not a lover (only Lancelot fits both those categories), and thus the halting progress of his fledgling romance with Dani. Enjoy!

Early next day, Tristan went to check if his saddlebags were ready. He patronized Cunomori, an acid tongued old Pict who owned one of the local leather goods shops in the thriving Romano-Celtic town to the South outside the fort walls. Despite his sharp tone and higher charges, Tristan used his services as the workmanship was of superior quality. The scout took meticulous care of his gear; he was often away alone and shoddy work could endanger his life or his mission.

He was pleased to see Cunomori's apprentice alone, an industrious and discreet young man. The boy had reason to be grateful to him; he was responsible for introducing him to Cunomori after the boy had repaired his hawking glove. Contrary to Galahad's charges, he did have a heart. He just didn't wear it on his sleeve or let it rule his emotions.

At first Tristan doubted the boy would last. None of Cunomori's other apprentices did for very long. The old rascal regularly threatened to tan his hide and use it for scrap leather, but gave him a free hand in running the shop. In return the boy turned a deaf ear and kept customers happy. He was one of Tristan's trusted sources of information, being on good terms with the tanners, the dyers, the metal workers and assorted craftsmen he came in contact with in the course of business.

After checking on the saddlebags, scabbards, assorted straps and gear, he asked if anyone had been here paying in silver denarii. Travelers invariably had to have leather travel gear repaired – buckles broke, straps frayed and leather rotted - and Cunomori's shop attracted customers with money to spend. He was not disappointed. The apprentice went to the back of the shop and brought back a torn satchel belonging to a Celt trader from near Vindolanda. The description matched.

Tristan inspected the satchel. It was old and worn but made of beautifully dyed and crafted leather. The distinct designs on the buckles and embroidered Latin inscriptions suggested that it had once belonged to a man of Arthur's God. Even if such a man sold his precious possession, a pagan Celt was unlikely to buy it. British natives had a superstitious view of Arthur's religion. He wondered if it too was looted. He thanked the boy and asked to be notified when the owner picked up his satchel. He hoped dryly that Dani's friends would leave him enough money to pay for it.

There was no telling how much notice they would get or how long they would be gone. Tristan methodically completed the rest of his chores – having the farrier check the horses' shoes, leaving instructions with the groom, inspecting his weapons and supplementing them with an extra bow and quiver, having a boot repaired, packing extra woolens. His partner was responsible for packing their food rations, blankets, her own gear and a first aid kit. He met with the soldier in charge of guard duty roster and discussed the next couple of weeks' rotations. When not away on a mission, Tristan was responsible for security of the fort.

As he finished his tasks, he hoped, not for the first time, that the Celt was indeed a lead because in North country the two of them would stick out like sore thumbs and Woads would spot them sooner or later. Their hooded cloaks would make them look like local travelers but from far distance. He considered disguises but dismissed the idea as laughable. Secrecy and speed would be key.

He returned to the fort, looking for his partner and once more wished that he knew how to talk to her about things other than missions and spies. He had been surprised by her visit to his room last night as she normally did not visit the knights' quarters. Having her around had created something of an anomaly for Arthur.

Badon fort was not very large. Unlike forts within established Roman territories, it was a frontier fort and very functional. Arthur had relinquished the praetorium, the fort commander's private residence, in favor of a small room in the principia. All the knights had rooms in the principia, a colonnaded building that also housed administrative offices. It was like Arthur to want to share quarters with his men, especially since he had no family. The residence building now housed a large clinic supervised by Dagonet and a few other healers.

When Dani had arrived, she unintentionally created a conundrum for Arthur. He could not house her with the knights, nor obviously in the barracks with common soldiers. And this was not only because, as a Christian, he had a certain amount of prudishness. A lone woman could create a conflict among men, however modest she was in her bearing, and there could be infringement of privacy on both sides.

The woman warrior did not wish to be taken for the knights' camp follower either. Besides, her status was somewhat irregular anyway as she was not a Sarmatian knight. 'Auxiliary to the auxiliary' was how she once described herself to Tristan. She resolved the problem by suggesting that she be given one of the rooms in the refurbished clinic. This arrangement was working out well. She had use of the kitchen, a tiny kitchen herb garden and privacy was assured for all. She also helped the healers, which was a plus, and kept an eye on the occasional overnight patient.

Tristan arrived at the clinic, ostensibly looking for Dagonet. Percy, who was following up with a patient - a mule cart driver whose mule had stepped on his foot – silently took his measure and jerked his chin towards the kitchen where Dani was working. Tristan stood in the doorway, just enjoying watching her. The kitchen, which had long ago been converted to a large workroom for mixing herbs, preparing medicines and storing medical supplies, was beginning to show a woman's touch. A pleasant aroma of baking bread mixed with dried herbs wafted through the air. A healer woman working nearby noticed him first, and giggled at Dani. Tristan gave silent thanks that whatever else the knights did, they did not giggle.

Dani finished her task of filling several jars with a decoction she had been preparing before joining him. She smiled absently and occupied herself with wiping hands on her apron.

'You have heard anything?' Tristan said the first thing that popped into his head, which was most uncharacteristic. He winced mentally, hearing a caustic putdown in Lancelot's voice. The most feared of knights making inane conversation with a woman!

'Not so soon, I should think. Flora has an errand girl and has promised to send her to me as soon as he is ready to leave.' She seemed at a loss too.

Tristan launched into a narrative of his preparations, which was a rather long-winded speech for him, but Dani seemed relieved when they moved into a topic they could quantify. When they parted ways, the neutrality of camaraderie had crept back in and smoothed out awkwardness, like a thick British fog blurring the edges of vegetation. Tristan told himself this was a good thing. He always took a reasoned and slow approach to important things.


	12. Bonds Breaking

Preoccupied as they were with the upcoming mission and the budding unspoken attraction, the two scouts had obviously missed the tension that had been building up within the quartet of hotheaded younger knights. Galahad and Gawain had been vexed for some time with Eric and Gault for stealing the limelight, they were used to adoration from the female hangers on. They also felt somewhat envious of the other two's adventures on the continent, even though much embellished. It came to a head that night at Vanora's tavern.

It had started innocently enough. A barmaid sitting on Eric's lap requested him to tell the tale of their long boat ride up the Danuvius, which got stormier with each telling. Before he could oblige, Gawain banged his drink down on the table and declared that a Thracian auxiliary had told him travelers did not sail the Danuvius, rather they traveled the road on the South bank that ran between fortified towns, a much more mundane activity. Galahad then insinuated that Eric should jog his memory for more fact and less fantasy. Eric shoved away the barmaid and banging down his own drink, asked if Galahad was calling him a liar. Gault tried to restrain him but Dani beat him to it.

'Eric, stop being a silly boy,' she snapped, for once not amused by his juvenile manner and annoyed at being interrupted in her conversation with Two. It had not escaped Tristan's notice that Vanora's eldest daughter idolized the woman. A shy girl, Two had secret dreams of becoming a healer, but being her mother's helper at the tavern and the primary caretaker of her numerous siblings left her little time for herself. Still she ran errands for the clinic sometimes.

'Butt out woman,' growled Gault, who was closer to her age and resented her solicitude more than Eric towards the two of them.

'I'm not twelve anymore,' Eric shrugged off Gault's restraining hand and purposely looked at the woman down his nose. He still had a slender youthful build but stood a head taller than her. He was smarting at the set down he had received in front of the pretty young barmaid he had been courting for sometime.

'Then stop acting like you are,' said Dani icily. 'Eleven,' she added for good measure.

All heads at their table and the next few tables turned to observe the row. No one had seen the woman lose her temper, especially with the two who were like younger brothers. Tristan stopped eating his apple and came out of his slouch. Percy got up from his conversation with Dagonet and moved towards Dani. Bors halted in the act of shoveling food into his mouth. Lancelot looked up from a game of dice, eyes gleaming with anticipation for more entertainment. No one expected things to get physical though.

Eric took a swing at her but he was hampered by Gault's hand clutching at his sleeve, and more than a few mugs of ale sloshing in his belly. Dani swayed back out of his reach, grabbed his arm from below with both hands and used it to spin herself into him, with an elbow jab hard below the chest. Eric hissed angrily and tried to lift up and crush her against him. She sprang up to add to his momentum, butting him with the back of her head and kicking him backwards in the knees at the same time. She was strong for her size and had learned to make every blow count against larger adversaries. With Eric she was used to sparring and he was inebriated as well. He lost balance and went down cursing in a jumble of limbs. By now the others were swarming around, pulling the two combatants apart.

Arthur was less than pleased at the report of his knights brawling in the tavern. The news of one of the knights being downed by a woman had spread through town and through the barracks like a wildfire, especially among the legionaries who sometimes felt looked down upon, and not without reason. He had sharp words for all who were involved, including Galahad for provoking the fight.

'I forget that Eric is a man and not a boy anymore. I have seen him as a baby brother for too long, and the only one that's left.' Dani apologized, looking uncharacteristically strained. It was the first time she ever mentioned other knights of their company who had perished too young. The survivors did not speak of them. 'Let my concern for him be my excuse. It will not happen again.' She added woodenly.

Eric looked utterly wretched. He could not believe he had challenged Galahad and tried to hit the woman who had all but mothered him since he was twelve. He was remorseful and could not look her in the eye. For too long he had tried to mask the strain of losses and uncertainty with bravado and tall tales. Mention of his fallen brothers made him look even more stricken; he looked the boy he was trying not to be. Galahad looked quite stunned as well. It was obvious that the incident had gone out of his control. He wasn't used to provoking someone as volatile as himself. Gawain and Gault were quietly thankful that their roles in the ruckus weren't larger.

After a few more words about brotherhood and solidarity, Arthur dismissed all of them except Lancelot and Tristan.

'Well it had to happen sometime,' said Lancelot, grinning. 'Those hotheads have been simmering for sometime. Better now than at a bad time. Although I must confess I did not expect Dani to be the main participant, or walk away the winner.' Arthur cracked a reluctant smile.

'Do you remember when you and I took fists to each other?' Lancelot asked, reliving old memories. His friend obviously remembered because the reluctant smile became rueful.

'Yes,' he said, shaking his head. 'I hope the road to brotherhood will be less rocky for those two.'

Tristan's amusement showed in his eyes. He, too, remembered them as boys. Back then Lancelot tended to present arguments with his fists in response to Arthur's scholarly, or in Lancelot's opinion hen-witted and pompous, discourse. Over time Lancelot had learned to use biting wit in place of flying fists and Arthur had learned to curb his enthusiasm for rhetoric.

'When do you leave, Tristan?' Arthur asked, sobering.

'Dani and I leave within a few days,' he said, without mentioning the lead they were following. Lancelot looked crestfallen. The knight with twinkling eyes and wicked reputation could not hide his renewed interest in Dani following the fisticuffs. He probably wouldn't mind a tussle with her, thought Tristan, and tipped his head down to hide a smile behind the unruly curtain of hair. Then he wondered if Dani would like to tussle with the charming, handsome knight and struggled to contain a flash of irrational anger. Then he was glad they were leaving soon; emotions seemed to be roiling at the fort.

Author's note:

Danuvius is Danube River. Forts, watchtowers and defensive earthworks had been built in earlier centuries along its South bank to keep watch on Barbarians from the North. These outposts were linked by road. After the Roman Empire lost the Northern province of Dacia (modern day Romania) in 3rd century, Danube became its Northern frontier.

Thracia is modern day Bulgaria, South of Danube.

Praetorium = fort commander's house

Principia = headquarters

I hope you like the friction among the knights. I thought it would liven things up!


	13. The Plot Thickens!

A few days later, the wait was over. They left Badon Fort in predawn darkness in the wake of another caravan going North. The man they were watching had left with a small party of homebound trappers - a noisy party of tribesmen, boys, hunting dogs and a couple of shaggy ponies drawing carts. Fortunately the dogs did not pay attention to other travelers unless they strayed too close.

Dani's women friends had reported that the man had been enquiring about Arthur's knights and men at arms, which sounded promising. They followed half a day behind, using the same camping spots so as to mask their own tracks, fairly confident that the man would not leave the protection of the caravan until he knew his friends were close. Tracks were easy to pick up even though visibility was reduced in the misty drizzle that heralded early Spring. And every other season as well, thought Tristan, combing moisture from his beard.

When they stopped for noon meal, Tristan reflected that the fight had done some good. The younger knights had been studiously avoiding Dani, and none ever thought to ask him any questions. Only Arthur and Lancelot knew about the scouting mission to the North. Tristan often kept his missions to himself. Sometimes his life depended on it and, much as he trusted his brothers, he knew them to have a loose tongue when in their cups. Also, he reflected humorously, he did not want his plans to become common knowledge to the 'wench network' via the barmaids frequented by younger knights. There was no telling when such information reached unfriendly ears.

They kept a silent, watchful eye on the forest, the moment of near intimacy a few nights ago forgotten. This was Woad country and the knights seldom ventured North more than a few hours ride. Tristan relied on his hawk to raise alarm if she spotted anyone who could harm her master. He glanced at his brooding companion.

It was more than danger that made the woman withdrawn and extra vigilant. The ugly incident at the tavern that had left all the knights in a rather pensive mood, but for Dani, it had been painful as well. She felt keenly the break with the boyish knight who teased her often. No doubt they would be friends again but it would not be the same, and she grieved. Tristan sighed. He was glad that she and her companions were at least weathering the British winter well. Despite her origins in warmer climates, years spent in the Balkans had made her fairly cold hardy. Idly he wondered how she had ended up with the knights; she had never explained.

The caravan was easy enough to follow – there were few travelers this season, the carts made traveling slow and the ponies obligingly left piles of dung - and from time to time they would catch a glimpse of the men in the distance. The Celt apparently did not like the dried greasy meat the Picts dined on, and ate lowland food – barley bread and honey - so he was fairly easy to keep track of. The terrain gradually became hilly and rocky and the party moved off the old Roman road they were following onto a track headed to the East, towards the coast. Tristan was relieved. He was getting worried the caravan might pass through settlements he knew to be farther North. Thankfully there was enough cover among the evergreen trees to conceal them. At night they took turns watching and kept the fire banked low lest anyone should see. They ate sparingly and spoke little, all senses alert. The hawk sensed need for quiet and spent most of the time flying or resting overhead.

At dawn of the fourth day, thick fog rolled in seemingly from nowhere. They had been in the middle of breaking camp but there was nothing to do but wait out the fog, and hope their quarry had been caught as well. It was unnerving to wait in the suffocating blanket of white, wondering if the caravan was moving ahead or not, hoping that a party of better-acclimated Woads did not happen upon them. The horses whinnied nervously but quieted at their masters' touch. They were used to unfamiliar conditions. Dani petted her mare and spent time with her. Taking care of the horse soothed both rider and beast.

When finally the fog lifted, it was close to midday. They hurried ahead following the still-fresh track.

When the caravan came into sight, it was midday. The man they were tracking could no longer be seen among the tribesmen. Tristan was not given to cursing but he narrowed his eyes at this stroke of bad luck and waited patiently for the travelers to finish their meal, break camp and move on. Thankfully this was soon; the party was getting close to home and wanted to hurry to dinner. As soon as the caravan – men, boys and beasts – rounded a bend and went out of sight, the scouts hurried forward. They hobbled the horses lightly and spread out looking for the man's tracks. There – he had taken a small deer path, seemingly to nowhere.

Author's note:

The old Roman road they were following was Dere Street. It ran across the Wall near Cilurnum and went through the abandoned British province of Valentia all the way to the Antonine Wall.


	14. Pursuit

The two of them led their horses as they followed the tracks - footprints, crumbled bread, broken branches, a bit of woolen cloak. Towards evening they could smell smoke, the coppery stench of blood, and the ominous sound of scavenger birds. The hawk screeched and took off. Tristan stepped up the pace. It was close to dark when they came upon a small village, or what remained of it – burned out huts, broken bodies, pooling blood, overturned pottery, scattered belongings.

A raven took off with a loud squawk as Tristan whipped out his bow and nocked an arrow. He scanned the surroundings with a predator's speed and grace while Dani led the horses to a stable that was still standing, glad to have something to occupy her. The horses were a little spooked but they had smelled blood and fire before. Dani's horse was a placid mare, one of the extras Jols had. She tethered the horses, gave them water and hay, and went out to join Tristan. She had the blades of her chanohk gripped in one hand and the other rested on a dagger. Resolutely she avoided looking at the bodies. Tristan's hawk came down where the raven had been.

Tristan was kneeling beside a body with arrows sticking out of it in both directions, foreign arrows – thick deadly shafts capable of piercing armor. He picked up an arrow from the ground and put it in his quiver. Other things were left – a throwing axe, a dagger, an amulet of shells and fishbone - all bespoke foreign origin. It had been a quick raid. Tristan's face was stony and cold as he surveyed the dead Picts. He had killed his fair share of them, but they had been warriors who attacked him, not women, children and old people, not for sport. Grimly he turned away from the carnage and pointed out footsteps leading away. Six to eight men in armor had passed this way. There was still some light left, hopefully enough to find the raiders' camp.

Dani quickly returned to the horses and grabbed some rations, a waterskin and Tristan's spare quiver. From hereon it was on foot. Tristan led the way as they followed tracks leading East as quickly as they dared while keeping close to the dense undergrowth and rocky outcrops. Fortunately half a dozen men in armor make a fair amount of noise and they would not be expecting to be followed. Soon enough they could hear rough voices and spied a group of men in the distance sitting around a fire. There were eight including the greasy looking Briton traitor. The rest were big rough looking men dressed in skins and mismatched armor. They were munching on looted bread and meat and talking in an unknown tongue.

Tristan signaled for them to stop keeping the camp and all the men in view. Fortunately they were downwind but he doubted it would have mattered. The men gave off a stench - strong combination of sweat, rum and bodily odors. Dani wrinkled her nose fastidiously and Tristan smiled in the darkness. Trust women to notice these things even in a situation like this. He could tell the coast was close as the night wind carried the rotting smell of tide.

They stayed mostly awake that night, taking turns to doze for a few moments, hoping the forest sounds would mask what little noise they made. They chewed on dry meat and bread; a fire was out of the question. Early next morning the raiders broke camp and they followed the sound of booted feet and grunts. Chalky boulders started appearing. They were getting close to sea. Trees were still dense overhead and the hawk had been staying out of sight.

Suddenly Tristan stopped and Dani almost bumped into him. He listened intently and looked back at the woman. Her eyes widened as she heard conversation getting louder. The men were coming back! The two scouts looked around quickly. They were on a deer path with thickets, but there was no substantial hiding place.

They backtracked as fast as they could without making too much noise and stopped at a clearing they'd passed through earlier. Sound of feet grew closer.

'Stand and fight,' growled the knight. He was tired of sneaking around. He felt a pang of regret about things he had never said to her, and then pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind. He whipped out his bow and nocked an arrow from the quiver strapped to his thigh.

The floor was fairly level, if rock strewn, and clear of dense vegetation. A few clumps of trees covered with overgrowth stood to one side and some large boulders to the other.

'Let them think I'm alone…come close….element of surprise…shoot them down …' Dani was whispering.

Tristan followed her logic - the men would let down their guard and come closer if they saw a lone, apparently unarmed woman. They'd want her alive. Pride warred with common sense for a moment before he nodded and stepped back into the shadows behind the trees, careful to not leave behind telltale footprints. She was his partner and he had to trust her. They were outnumbered anyway. He knelt and carefully leaned his quiver against a stump.

Dani stood in the middle of the clearing and waited, chanokh held behind her back, handles clasped in either hand. The first of the men stepped into view and tensed. Then the man chuckled and called his fellows forward. Guttural conversation and laughter followed. The scout held up a hand and said something to them, and more laughter followed.

Dani stayed still and kept her eyes on the ground as the men spread out in front of her. Tristan studied the men objectively, pushing aside his concern for her safety. There were three with crossbows. They would be first. The rest had axes and swords. The men were puzzled but not alarmed, and only one lifted his weapon. The traitor spoke to her and she looked up with a guarded expression.

'Well, if it isn't the knights' pet. All alone, eh?' He looked around but Tristan was skilled at masking his presence and they were lulled by Dani's apparent lack of company. Fortunately the Briton did not associate her with him, having seen them together only once.


	15. Fight or Flight

'A stroke of luck this is. You know Arthur and the knights. Did they cast you out? I heard you're quite the spitfire.' He said something to the others. They roared with raucous laughter and relaxed their weapons. Her public altercation with the knights had not been a bad thing at all, Tristan mused as he silently nocked an arrow and drew a bead on one of the crossbow men.

'Why don't you come with us?' He walked a little nearer and smirked at seeing the small daggers she wore at her side. 'Rome's leaving and Arthur's not taking you, is he?'

'My friends are close. Don't come near me.' She backed away as if looking for a getaway and drew them closer into to the clearing. They surrounded her, some with their backs to Tristan. He smiled grimly.

'There's eight of us, missy,' he jeered. 'But we don't want to damage you, so let's not fight eh?'

Tristan saw Dani move suddenly as if in panic, pivoting close to a man behind her. One of the blades flew out with a hiss and there was a sharp, soft sound of metal slicing through flesh. The man slid soundlessly to the ground, his throat slit and a look of surprise on his face. His companions stared, not sure what had happened. His axe clattering to the ground broke the spell. The blade was back in her hand.

'Now you are seven,' Dani deadpanned. Tristan's mouth twitched. He wondered what Gault would say to that.

The men instinctively stepped away from Dani, keeping her in sight, and Tristan let fly arrows with cool precision. The men with crossbows went down swiftly, not knowing where to target. Dani dived to the ground to keep out of line of fire. She twisted this way and that to avoid blows and found an opening in the circle. Fortunately most of the men now ignored Dani and waded towards Tristan who was striding out of the trees drawing his wicked curved blade, dark eyes gleaming in anticipation. Dani jumped up behind the men and ran towards them slicing at the back of their legs. One of two turned back but she danced back out of the way again, slashing blades in front of her.

Tristan felt dark satisfaction as he cut down the men who had slaughtered the villagers. They were poorly skilled and he guessed that they relied on the strength of numbers and panic among their victims. Grimly he slashed, hacked and parried. And then it was over, but for moans from downed men. He looked around quickly, pivoting on one foot, and then went about methodically dispatching the injured with a slash of his scimitar. He stopped only when all the men lay dead and looked for Dani. She was on the ground looking dazed but not seriously injured.

'Go after him!' She pointed down the trail and Tristan belatedly realized that the Briton was gone. He sheathed his sword and ran, grabbing his bow and quiver from where they lay. He was smarting from some gashes to his limbs and a bruised rib but the battle rage still fueled him; he ignored the pain. He ran with panting breaths smelling the sea get closer. Abruptly the land dropped away and he skidded to a stop, sending a shower of pebbles toppling over a cliff. He paused on one knee, making himself small, and looked around.

To his left, the traitor was scrambling down a narrow path created by a seasonal rivulet. Tristan let fly an arrow but watched in frustration as the man ducked behind a rock and the arrow passed overhead. The man had a head start. Tristan ran to the trailhead but the man was at the bottom of the cliff by now. He dodged another arrow and ran across the beach towards the left where he disappeared again behind a cliff face. Tristan took a few deep breaths and started down, keeping a cautious eye on the beach. He was vulnerable from below while climbing down but didn't dare hurry for fear of losing his footing. By the time he got to the bottom, he saw a rowboat heading out to open sea, the Briton rowing furiously and casting terrified looks to the shore.

Tristan ran into the shallow waters and whipped out his bow, but when he reached for his quiver he found it empty. The arrows had tipped out in that mad scramble down the cliff. Luck and tide was on the traitor's side for he had reached the open ocean while Tristan searched the ground in vain for a fallen arrow. When he looked up again, a small sailing ship came into view from behind a cliff to the right and the rowboat headed for it. A scout ship, fast and light, Tristan realized with a sudden chill. The pirates, wherever they were from, were scouting new hunting grounds for their kind.


	16. Unlikely Find

By the time Tristan returned to the clearing, Dani had propped herself against a tree and was fiddling with a crossbow. She had a makeshift bandage around one thigh and a worried look on her face. He had been gone for sometime, he realized.

'He got away.' He said shortly and sat down to catch his breath. It was only midday, he realized with a surprise. The woman said nothing; time enough later for details.

She limped around searching the packs of the fallen men for food stolen from the village. She had a look of mild disgust as she sat down to share what she found. Tristan found himself chuckling humorlessly when she used a little of the water to wash grimy hands.

'Twice stolen bread,' he said, munching. 'How badly are you hurt?'

'Not bad. I have linen and salve in the saddle.' Helping Percy and Dagonet had given her some skills in nursing and first aid. She finished her meal quickly and ripped a piece of linen from her under tunic. Washing it with water, she proceeded to wipe the blood from Tristan's gashes. They would have to get back to the village fast, and see to their wounds. They could not afford an infection here in Woad territory.

'You were good.' Tristan said. This was high praise, but for some reason the woman went tightlipped.

The pain from their wounds made them slow but they reached the village before nightfall. The horses seemed relieved to see them and after a few pats, they sat down to wash and apply salve to their injuries. Tristan thought about other things to take his mind off the fact that he was rubbing salve into Dani's bared shoulder and thigh. They were very fortunate to escape with so little injury. They had to get back, quickly and without running into Woads, to tell Arthur what they found. He realized with a start that his ministrations had changed to a caress as he traced an old scar, and Dani was leaning into it. This was hardly the time! He finished abruptly and she sighed.

'We'll rest here tonight,' Tristan said. Dusk was falling. The hawk came down on a nearby stump with a piece of meat. He preferred to not think about what it came from.

'Not here with rotting corpses.' Said Dani. He looked at her in surprise. She was fastidious but not squeamish. He decided not to argue. Besides, there was always the chance of wolves visiting in the dark to make a meal. It was the law of nature.

'Alright. Let's get moving.' They went back to the horses and curried them a little before leading them out. Suddenly Tristan's ears picked out a slight sound and he whipped around, sword in hand. He moved swiftly in the direction of the sound; it was only a boy cowering under the hay, mute with fear. Dani moved towards him making soothing sounds the way she would approach a baby horse.

'We have to take him,' she said as Tristan sheathed his sword. He muttered under his breath but again decided not to argue. Besides he wasn't completely heartless. After an initial panic, the boy clung to Dani so she had to carry him in front of her on the horse. Their rest that night was interrupted by the boy's nightmares. The woman soothed him and Tristan kept watch, frowning at the noise. So it was three tired travelers that broke camp the next morning. The hawk flew down to Tristan's arm but she seemed to frighten the boy, so he sent her away. The bird huffed and disappeared from sight. They traveled as fast as they dared to push the horses.

That evening they ran into a party of Woads. Apparently they had been followed but after three nights with little sleep they were so weary even Tristan had missed their pursuit. As they slowed down to round a bend, ducking under overhanging branches, Woads came out of the dark undergrowth swiftly and silently as ghosts. They surrounded the two with arrows ready to fly but stayed their hands; they had seen the boy. The horses whinnied to a stop.

They were at an impasse. Tristan had an arrow nocked but they were hopelessly outnumbered, and Dani was encumbered with the boy.

The Woads were forest dwelling Pict tribesmen in blue war paint called woad. These were the first that Dani had seen. Incongruously, their leader was a slim young woman dressed like a peasant. She looked nothing like a peasant however. She had a beautifully sculpted face, haughty look and long auburn curls. Tristan's sharp eyes detected a faint outline around her neck, such as one that would be left by a torc, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. She looked at the boy as he stirred awake.

'Lucan,' she breathed. 'Guin,' the boy whimpered. Guin held out her arms and the boy eagerly slid down and ran to her embrace. Dani made no move while Guin examined the boy and exchanged word with him. She glanced at her followers and weapons were lowered, a fraction.

'He says you saved him,' she stated, looking curiously at the dark skinned, obviously foreign woman. The Woads were not used to knights saving their people. 'You,' she said looking at Tristan, 'have killed many of ours.'

'You have bigger problems than us,' Tristan's voice was flat, dark eyes intent and bow steady in his hand. 'Not a man, woman or child was left alive in his village.' Very slowly he lowered the bow and lifted something out of one of the saddle pockets. He dropped it at her feet – an axe unlike the ones used by Woads. 'They will be back.'

'Saxons,' Guin said tonelessly.

'Is it what they are called?'

'Why are you here, North of the Wall?' Guin's questioned sharply.

'Our leader Arthur wants to know about these Saxons, and the raids.' Tristan replied.

'Why?'

'They're killing his people too.'

'Arthur kills his own people,' spat Guin.

'Only when they try to kill him,' said Tristan calmly but firmly, 'as do we.'

Guin looked down at the boy and came to a decision. 'Go back to the Wall.' She made a gesture with her hand and the Woads started melting back into the now dark forest. She made to back away as well, but Dani stopped her, 'Guin!'

'If you're going to pretend to be a peasant, you should look more humble, you know, look down at the ground.' Dani smiled pleasantly and pretended not to notice Guin's cold glare or Tristan's quelling look. Guin disappeared and Tristan let out a breath.

There were no more words. As the first stars became visible, they turned South and rode away at a steady pace. Tristan could feel eyes watching them and knew they belonged to Guin's men. They had to stop for the night, weary and aching from various wounds, but it was an unnerving experience trying to catch some rest while being watched by enemy eyes. They had no way of knowing if the Woads would change their minds. Neither slept much and broke camp as soon as there was a little light. This time the travel was swift, not having to follow a slow moving caravan or hide or carry a boy, but it was still evening the next day before they came within sight of the Wall. In between they had stopped once briefly to eat a meal, check the dressings and rest the horses. Tristan closed his eyes briefly and thanked powers that be that they would be able to complete the mission and get news to Arthur.

Author's note:

Leaders of British tribes commonly wore gold torcs, a neckband of twisted gold wire open in front.

The events here lead up to Guin's learning about Arthur.


	17. Freedom

There was a flurry of activity on the nearest watchtower when a sentry spotted them. Torches in the nearest watchtower beckoned the exhausted scouts with their warm, welcoming glow. As they waited for the gate to open, Tristan saw Dani smiling and patting the mare, tired but happy to be home. The beasts were glad too, sensing end of journey and stood patiently with heads hanging.

'Why not keep her?' he said.

'I want to train my own,' she said stubbornly.

'She's a good horse.'

'And you know because….' Dani looked at him curiously.

'She belonged to Bedwyr. We were friends.' Tristan's gravelly voice was low with pain he did not disguise. 'I have not been this close to anyone, before or after. Except you.' Just then, he had a powerful feeling of homecoming, and only a small part of it had to do with coming back to the place that had been his home for more than fourteen years. It had more to do with relief at knowing he was with this woman, they were together and safe. He wanted the feeling to remain, and be with her always.

She looked at him in surprised silence. 'Tristan…'

'We'll talk, later.' Right now they had to see Arthur. There was much to report.

They did not see Arthur until next morning however, as Arthur wanted them to rest. They did so gladly, turning the horses over to Jols. Arthur spoke with both the scouts next morning, after the healers had tended their wounds and they had eaten their first decent meal in more than a week. He was interested in the Saxon weapons, including the crossbow, they had brought back. The knights wanted to talk to them too, and there were other duties to attend to, including Tristan's mare, which was limping.

It was more than a week before they could find a moment alone. Late one afternoon, Dani was mending her chanokh sitting under a tree by the practice field. It had become frayed in places since their battle with the Saxon scouting party in the North. Tristan leaned against a post to watch. He had a new respect for the weapon since seeing it in use against the enemy. She repaired the cord regularly, sliding the metal clasps up and down to insert new strips of material - horsehair, sinews, fibers and thin strips of leather. The smooth hollow bone handles had long chinks in places and the long strands of metal wire wrapped around the bone were shiny with constant handling. They sat in restful silence for a while.

'It's an unusual weapon.' He observed. 'Weapons reflect those who use them.'

'My people are unusual,' she agreed with a smile. 'The tribes that live between two powerful empires lead a precarious existence, just to survive.'

'Your people do not belong to the Persian empire?'

'No. There are a number of independent nomad tribes that recognize neither empire, so the Sassanid army consider the tribes fair game, as do Romans.' She looked at him. 'Even then, the tribes would rather be free.'

'Freedom.' He thought aloud. The concept was a preoccupation of many people, including the knights. He wondered what freedoms the Sarmatians enjoyed being the buffer between Rome to the South and Huns to the North, and if their existence was also as precarious. Woads had held to their freedom tenaciously against Rome, and now perhaps against Saxons.

'You will have yours, soon.' She reminded him.

'Aye.' Tristan and his brothers lived for the day they would receive their discharge papers. It was hope of freedom, so close now, that kept them fighting. Suddenly he wondered if his own hard won freedom would be so ephemeral, to be held to against war machines of empires. His mind shied away; it preferred things that could be physically measured and felt.

'Tristan?' She said, breaking his line of thought.

'Eh?'

'You wanted to talk.' She reminded him, giving her attention to a particularly difficult knot.

'Yes,' said Tristan, looking uncomfortable now. The overwhelming feeling of homecoming he had felt the night of their return was still there, but as his body was no longer tired his mind was back in control. The hard lessons of masking emotions learned over many years cannot be undone in a few weeks. Words of romance sounded silly and trite, and so …. Lancelot. He cast about for something to say.

'What's on your mind?' She prompted, for once asking a direct question

'Ahem…archery,' he said. 'It's a disadvantage not having the skill. Practice tomorrow at dawn.' He turned away, leaving Dani gaping after him.

Author's note:

Roman historical sources cite Sassanid or Sassanian Empire (224 – 651 AD, in the area of modern day Turkey and Iran) having women warriors in the army and cavalry. Roman Empire fought with Sassanids in the area of modern day Turkey, and the border remained fluid in this region with cities controlled by both empires. Sassanids achieved a major victory in 260 AD when Shapur I captured Emperor Valerian.

Nomadic tribes lived in the arid, rocky region outside of cities, one of which was Dani's fictitious tribe.

And yes, they will get together, all in good time!


	18. Missed Targets

The archery lesson was disastrous. The woman was in the practice field ahead of him in predawn light. It was still early Spring and the air was nippy. Puffs of vapor rose as she exerted herself, intent on a target in the far distance.

She had acquired a bow and two arrow filled quivers from Jols. As he approached, he could see her firing away with ferocious concentration and appalling aim. He leaned against a post and grinned. No wonder she had turned down the earlier offer. Archery training took place late morning when the street adjacent to the field was busy with traffic. The woman did not want to put up a comic display. Sun's rays started filtering through by the time she had the last half dozen arrows left, still having not seen him.

'Hold the arrow with three fingers, not the entire fist,' he suggested in her ear and she jumped, having missed his silent approach. The arrow zinged off towards the street and she turned to watch, horrified. Gawain, Galahad and Lancelot were riding out to patrol and had slowed down to watch. The arrow passed harmlessly overhead and lodged in a tree.

'If you were aiming for that tree,' said a grinning Gawain, 'congratulations. You hit it.' For a change the woman did not laugh.

'I am pretty sure I can hit your backside, Gawain,' she said sweetly while nocking another arrow. 'It's a large target.'

'What you need is a good teacher,' suggested Lancelot in honeyed tones, leaving no doubt what it was he wanted to teach. Dani gave an involuntary snort and lost her grip on the arrow. It too went sailing but fortunately not towards the street. The mounted knights whooped and laughed, but prudently decided to move on. They could always pick on her at dinner.

Dani jumped again as Tristan stepped closer and gripped the bow before she could draw another arrow, encircling her fingers with his own. This put him directly behind her and he realized too late that his own concentration was now also impaired.

'Hold lightly here, don't clench your fingers,' he ignored the mingled scent of herb and sweat.

'Don't touch me,' she hissed tightly.

'What?' He was surprised. She shrugged his fingers off her bow and deliberately stepped away, but took his advice and relaxed her grip. The rest of the arrows, all of which went wide, were released in silence and she did not look at him. It was not the companionable silence they had often shared before. Tristan tried to think of a way to bring it back.

'Imagine me pinned to the target,' he suggested, hoping humor would lighten her mood.

'I am,' she replied, not amused. He rubbed his neck. If he was unfamiliar with wooing a woman, he was even more so with flattering her out of a sulk. He recognized that she was mad at him and wondered how Lancelot handled a situation like this. He decided a direct approach, the way he handled everything else. He put his hands on her shoulder and turned her to him.

'What do you want me to do?' he asked.

'Be honest,' she said, looking him in the eye. The irritation was gone from her features; instead there was an inexplicable sadness. She looked as though she would say something more but then she shook her head and, picking up the quivers, walked away to pick up the spent arrows. The lesson was over. He was not sure who learned what.


	19. Badon Fort

It was a late Spring day that found Tristan riding through the fort gates after three weeks away. He was late for a meeting Arthur had called. He had been South to Eburacum and two other Roman run towns. There too refuges were trickling in, not so much as at the Wall, but enough to cause friction with the townspeople. He didn't blame them, having seen their source of terror with his own eyes. He had taken messages from Arthur to Roman officials. After three weeks of bureaucracy, he was grateful to return.

He passed the reins of his horse to Jols, nodded an acknowledgement to his greeting and hurried to the meeting room. He couldn't help slowing down though at seeing masons and tradesmen working on several buildings, side by side with off duty auxiliaries. He was away from the fort often and every time he returned, he noticed changes.

Senna was in his element here. Various fort structures and services, long neglected, were being repaired and in some cases rebuilt, including one of the wells, the bathhouse, the granary and one of the workshops. Arthur had done his best, with the help of Jols and a reluctant Lancelot, but the fort had clearly needed a man who loved the task of running it. In just the short few months, the place was humming with activity, and running like a smoothly oiled machine, the way it should be, Tristan noted with appreciation. The auxiliary men were cheerful to have tasks that would get their hands dirty. A couple of Greeks recognized him and waved a hello. Most of the auxiliaries were not from Italia but conscripts from other provinces like Sarmatia.

Eric liked to joke that Senna was half Roman from his father's side, and that's what made him a natural bureaucrat. A good thing that Senna was also a peaceable man or Eric would not escape unscathed with repeated slurs to the man's paternity. When riding in, Tristan had seen activity near the training field. Unless he was mistaken, there were a couple of the onagers out there being worked on as well, no doubt under Senna's capable directions.

Arthur was slated to leave Britain in less than a year along with the rest of them, but he wanted to leave the fort in best possible shape for the next commander. Despite the constant rumor of Rome leaving Britain, and despite the fact some Southern forts had indeed been evacuated, Arthur did not believe Rome would abandon the frontier so many men had died to protect. He believed in the rightness and justice of Rome, the inherent goodness in everyone, and optimism in the future. And that's why the knights followed him, Tristan reminded himself, and only occasionally wanted to slap his silly head.

Braids went flying as the scout shook his head to dispel the inappropriate image and schooled his features to the impassive mask familiar to everyone before entering the meeting room. Arthur stopped in mid-sentence to greet him. Tristan nodded to him and sent a warm glance towards his partner; she gave him a strained look in return.

'Welcome back, Tristan. What news of Eburacum?' Arthur asked. In front on the table was an old parchment map of Britain, one of his prized possessions.

'Eburacum has seen an increase in refugees, but officials do not believe this far South they have a problem.' Tristan stated concisely. 'They do not believe Saxons to be a major threat, and if so, they expect Roman forces to withdraw before it becomes a threat.' Everyone digested this in silence. There were a few angry murmurings from the younger knights. Rome had extracted much from Britain, especially precious metals like gold, lead and tin, but it seems now Roman officials expected to leave the island to Barbarian invaders. Everyone looked towards Arthur.

'I have not had official word of this, only rumors,' he said in a voice that brooked no opposition. Arthur firmly believed that Rome would do right by Britain as soon as the turmoil he had been hearing about stabilized. No one actually rolled his eyes, no one would insult their commander, but a few sighs were heard. Senna, the soul of discretion, cleared his throat.

'Sir, that still leaves us short of men in the event we have to defend the townspeople as well as the fort.' Senna insisted on formality.

'Which is why we must keep ourselves in readiness and the fort in order for our replacements,' Arthur continued firmly. 'I have ordered the onagers to be refurbished for use, if the fort indeed comes under a concerted threat.' The onagers had been dismantled and put into storage long ago. These war machines had been devastating against enemy formations in past centuries. Putting them together and repairing damage caused by decades in storage was a major and expensive undertaking but then, Arthur took seriously his self-appointed task of protecting everyone. No wonder Lancelot looked glum.

'Or put Dani on the Wall with bow and arrows.' Galahad deadpanned, deciding it was time for a joke. She gamely smiled and bowed her head at the laughter that swept around the table.

'One other thing I must address,' Arthur recalled their attention. 'When my time here is up, I intend to return to Rome. Those of you who will have time left, can elect to stay here with the new commander or come with me.' It was common understanding that Arthur would be given some official position and Senna's company looked around with relieved smiles. They would go with him, even Senna who was pouring his passions for organizing into Badon Fort.

Shortly Arthur dismissed them all except Lancelot and Senna. With these two he worked out details that would bore everyone else. Dani was the first to hurry out, looking neither left nor right. Once out in the courtyard she stepped up her pace as if she knew Tristan was following her. He had thought of her often on his recent solitary rides – Arthur had decided that a woman emissary would make Roman officials even more truculent – and during nights spent away from Badon. She had become too important to him and for once he had to let down his defenses.

He finally caught up with her in long strides before she entered the stable, and put a hand on her shoulder.

'What?' she snapped. Her eyes sparked and briefly Tristan hoped she would be angry with him often. He did not want a meek woman.

'We must talk.' He pulled her to behind the stable and she reluctantly followed.

'More archery?' she asked in acid tones and then gasped as he crushed her to him in a hug. He wrapped long arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

'What are you doing?' she squirmed, trying to remain angry.

'Being honest,' he said, laughter in his voice. It was easier to show her his feelings than try to express with words. After struggling a few moments more, she burrowed into his shoulder and started shaking. Tristan felt suspicious wetness where her nose was and smiled. Women were strange. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of herbs, feeling enveloped in peace and happiness. 'If I could spout poetry, for you I would.'

Someone cleared his voice. Tristan reluctantly cracked open an eye. It was the puppy, Eric, eyeing them with a toothy grin.

'What,' said Tristan calmly as if being caught in the act of hugging a crying woman behind the stable and talking nonsense about poetry was nothing new for him.

'Arthur wants to see you.' The puppy said. Tristan decided sourly he was in serious danger of damaging his cheek muscles.

'I will come,' the scout closed his eyes and hoped the puppy would take the hint. Throat cleared once more and the woman in his arms started shaking again, this time with laughter.

'Both of you,' Eric threw over his shoulder before walking away, still grinning. Tristan cast about briefly for something he could do that would allow him to absent himself from dinner that night.

'Courage,' said Dani, giving him a squeeze, as if she could read his mind.

Author's note:

Province of Italia was Rome proper, modern day Italia.

Many architects, engineers and artists of the empire were of Greek origin.

Onager's are large catapaults capable of hurling chunks of rock at enemy. In the movie they showed the Woads using onagers but they surely didn't build them overnight or drag them in through the forest. Apparently they did get trained overnight though. I'm trying to explain some plot holes.

Rome imported gold, tin and lead, among other things, from the British territories.

A major duty of Roman soldiers was the work of building and repairing.

Hope you are all happy now:)


	20. It Takes Two to Apprentice

It was a typical early Summer night at Vanora's Tavern. By long custom, it almost exclusively catered to the fort men. The knights' table seated several of their company, while the other tables seated off duty soldiers and a few civilian customers, retired legionaries. The older men had settled in fort town where they had families. They liked visiting friends still in service to talk about old times and grumble about new times. Vanora and Two, her eldest daughter, bustled about serving the men.

The younger quartet of knights was absent on patrol duty, so it was a quiet evening at the knights' table. Vanoras' lover Bors and the two healers – Dagonet and Percy – were eating stew. Lancelot was idly eyeing the barmaids and occasionally Dani; the man never gave up hope. Tristan was slowly and meticulously eating his favorite food – apples – while his partner applied the season's first honey to thick slices of bread.

Two came by with a mug of ale and a plate of bread for Lancelot. He smiled at her warmly and tugged one of her braids.

'Hey Two, I am waiting for you to grow up.' The twelve year old blushed and giggled at the compliment from the charming, flirtatious knight. Her father Bors looked up and frowned.

'Now you keep your hands to yourself,' said Vanora, giving him a whack on the head. Lancelot flirted with the mother often enough. Bors opened his mouth to say something but there was a heated argument on the other side of the table that drew everyone's attention.

'Dani, I appeciate all your help.' Dagonet was saying. 'But I need an apprentice who is available all the time. You have other duties.'

'But just a touch of her fingertips is half the cure,' Lancelot protested, picking up one of Dani's hands and kissing the knuckles. She broke off arguing and chuckled. Tristan darkly wondered if Lancelot would like to eat a few knuckles but held his peace. The man was outrageous, but she never took him seriously. Their budding romance was something new and slow but he did not mind. Their companionable silences had a more intimate quality now and by some miracle Eric the puppy had kept his mouth shut.

'And it is best to start training at a younger age.' Percy added regretfully. 'I have been considering Aili's niece.' Aili was the village midwife.

'A tavern girl?' Asked Lancelot with a laugh. 'Might as well take Two here.' Bors frowned ferociously and opened his mouth again.

'Be serious,' Dagonet interrupted dismissively. 'I need someone hardworking, responsible and intelligent.'

'That rules out Bors' brats,' Tristan drawled lazily, surprising Bors into silence. Tristan never took part in general silliness. He left it to Galahad and Lancelot, and lately Eric.

'My daughter has nursed all her brothers and sisters when they're sick,' interrupted Vanora with a mother's righteousness, waving a spoon for emphasis. 'She helps me run this place, and keeps account, or you lot would be eating elsewhere. So don't you dare put down MY girl.' She put hands on her hips and glared at the offending knights.

'Vanora, they're just saying that it is a respectable position,' Dani tried to placate her. 'And well paid, in time.'

'My Two is better than the likes of Aili's niece any day.' Bors slammed a fist onto the table. 'Why, that time I was laid up with my sword arm open, the girl changed my linen every day. Anyone else would have botched the job.' Infection was an enemy more feared than armed men.

'If you say so,' said Dagonet doubtfully. Percy shrugged.

'I say so! My Two has better sense than any girl twice her age.' Bors glared at them and challenged anyone to refute him. No one did. Tristan kept eating his apple. Dani found a bee in her honey pot and became busy picking at it. Lancelot wisely applied himself to his dinner.

'We could try her out,' Dagonet finally ventured after a few more bites of stew. Percy shrugged again, never a man to waste words. 'For a trial period, mind you. I can't train a silly miss. She has to prove herself.'

'And she will, she'd better.' Pronounced Bors with another glare, sealing the fate of Two as apprentice healer to Dagonet and Percy. Vanora sniffed in satisfaction and went back to the kitchen.

'Too bad,' Lancelot murmured, but not too loudly. He did, after all, have a sense of self-preservation. Argument settled to his satisfaction, Bors went to the back to see if Vanora would reward him for standing up to his brothers for her. There was sound of a slap, followed by the sound of kissing, and the girl in question was bodily ejected from the kitchen as her parents snatched a private moment. She came flying out and gave her idol a quick hug. The woman hugged her back.

'Thank you,' she whispered, eyes shining and a smile splitting her face. Dagonet gave her a kind smile and Percy a nod before Bors came back. Even Tristan smiled at her. Two skipped away and Lancelot leaned over to Dani.

'I just risked life and limb for your little friend. Does that not merit a reward?' He whispered suggestively, lips close to ears.

'Indeed,' she replied gravely, eyes dancing. 'When next you come back with a Woad arrow sticking out of your chest, Two will be changing your linen. She is the best.'


	21. Decisions

Summer wore on and the knights were out on patrol more often. Woads were once more testing their vigilance and Tristan was out often, looking for telltale signs of enemy scouts. Woads never attacked the knights or patrols sent out by Arthur – they were not suicidal – but caravans of grain shipments, merchants or couriers with news to the Wall were fair game. Arthur grudgingly admitted that they generally did not aim to kill but rather to disrupt and harass the Imperial presence on the isle. After all the natives did not want to anger the Roman commander into retaliating against Picts who lived in towns South of the Wall, although Arthur would never be capable of such pettiness. Attacks on grain shipments, however, meant ration disruptions, and even Arthur dealt harshly with such attempts.

The knights skirmished several times with Woad raiding parties who melted away as soon as the Sarmatians appeared on the scene. The forest was their natural habitat, and even though Tristan tracked down more than a few, most melted away into the thick forest understory or marshy patches where a horse cannot follow. He bitterly reflected that they probably even knew patches of the Wall that went unprotected by the thinning ranks of auxiliary patrols. Forest cover was creeping back over to the Wall in places; previously it had been cleared regularly. An additional incentive for the Woads was that a successful raid meant booty in the form of food rations. Gawain commented with disgust that it was like chasing flies off a carcass; as soon as you turned your back they came buzzing back. Gault quipped that it was indeed unsporting of them not to stand still for old Gawain, insinuating that the fair-haired knight was slowing with age.

Small opportunist parties of Saxons continued to sneak up the river ways from the East and raid villages, so the knights were spread thin despite their additional numbers. The Saxons always got away before the knights' arrival.

Early in the season Arthur had been presented with a dilemma. Bors' simmering resentment at having to share Dagonet's time with Percy had come to a boil. Gawain unwisely made a crass joke about the closeness between the two healers and Percy snarled at him. Percy was the lone Christian convert among the knights and he did not like the implication. Senna, ever the diplomat, suggested that Dagonet be out on patrol while Percy ran the clinic with Dani and Two. So it was only Eric and Gault who rode with the British knights.

Tristan walked into the clinic late one morning, pausing for a moment in the courtyard which now featured a growing number of pottery jars of various shapes, sizes and colors, each sprouting a rose bush. Some were sporting roses that ranged from delicate and demure to shocking and bold. Who knew that dour Percy would have a penchant for roses or such artistic sensibilities, thought the bemused scout. He headed for the kitchen where Dani was usually found. He saw her rarely these days, to his mild frustration.

He found her in the kitchen surrounded by skillets, jars, pots and other paraphernalia. Herbs in various stages of drying were suspended from a rack over the oven. She had a patient and steady hand with various decoctions and tinctures – 'guaranteed to cure or kill' - that needed to be prepared for the healers. She was teaching Two but the apprentice lacked the requisite attributes of patience and steadiness, by virtue of not having lived long enough.

Two smiled at him and said hello. She had transferred some of her hero worship to him as well and he softened his forbidding look when in her company. She scooted away to give them some privacy. Dani wore a faded old gown and a mulish look.

Spring and summer was harvest season for many herbs and time to make remedial preparations for storage, but she had started to feel rebellious at the lack of exercise and, she had to admit, action. She kept up the morning weapons drill and spent some time riding every afternoon. Percy felt much the same and grumbled more often. True to Arthur's generous nature, the fort clinic was open to all comers and saw a steady stream of people, even from out of town, with various ailments and accidents. According to the dour surgeon, some of the latter was caused by idiocy rather than accident. Their servant Alan was pressed into service from time to time – 'to hold down the victims,' Dani had confided in Tristan.

'I am growing tired of being indoors,' She now sighed, rubbing her back, as Tristan folded his arms and took a seat.

'Then perhaps I have good news,' said the scout but teasingly shook his head at her questioning stare. He took an apple out of his pocket.

'You are not yet done,' he added, pointing to the worktable. She sighed again and went back to the slow and laborious job of chopping, measuring, mixing, boiling, pouring, labeling and then cleaning up. By the time she was done, it was time for lunch and her stomach was growling inelegantly. She turned up her nose at the herb bread in the oven – she was tired of herbs – and the scout laughingly offered to walk her to town for a meal. Two came along, intending to visit her mother and siblings. Vanora was pregnant again, and due in late fall.

Over a simple meal of bread and vegetable soup he told her that Arthur had been thinking aloud of sending a party of knights to the East on an extended trip, perhaps all the way to Segedunum. There were settlements to the South of river Tyne that had been hit hard by Saxon raiders and many had wounded who could not travel far. The trip would serve the dual purposes of stemming further attacks and helping the locals. Arthur was also not unaware that Percy and Dani had been feeling confined. The woman brightened.

'Something else troubles you,' said the scout as she mopped up the last of her soup. 'Besides not getting to kill anyone.' This earned him a dirty look.

'Reading my mind, are you?' she said.

'You are severe with your hair when you are vexed,' he pointed.

'Oh,' she fingered the braid and indeed her hair was scraped back in a too tight braid.

'I helped with an old woman at the clinic – a wandering storyteller with a thorn in her foot – and it was something she said.' Dani shrugged restlessly, fiddling with a thread on her sleeve. 'She called me a "daughter of Persia" and said I was a long way from home.'

'That hardly makes her a seer,' replied the scout reasonably. 'Many know you are from Persia, and it is far.' She sat silent for a while, chewing her lips, and Tristan shook off a flash of irrational fear.

'She said I would have to choose between following my heart and my head,' she finally said and added reluctantly, 'again.'

'What is it you take it to mean?' asked Tristan. The word 'again' bothered him. She had never disclosed why she had been cast out of her tribe. There was so much about the woman he did not know.

'In less than six months, you return to Sarmatia and I follow Arthur to Rome,' she said directly, looking at him. This was one topic they had never discussed, their times together had been too little and too precious to interrupt with harshness of reality. In truth her status was irregular and he did not know how exactly she fit with Senna's group. In recent months he had begun thinking of the return to Sarmatia, but the fragmented images of homeland were no longer bleak. He imagined Dani with him, somehow. He planned to ask her to return with him, as his wife. He had begun to see, with painful clarity, olive skinned boys and mischievous girls so different from their fair playmates, playing in long prairie grass. The concept seemed no longer so alien.

'Come with me,' he blurted out, not at all the way he imagined he would ask.

'I cannot,' she held up a hand to forestall any arguments. 'I made a contract with the late commander Marcus to serve with Senna and the others to the end of their service. I, too, am bound to Rome's service.' She smiled sadly at his look of comprehension.

'Besides,' she continued, 'I can never abandon them, anymore than you could your friends, and,' this time she looked at him and hesitated. 'The whole region around the Black Sea is in turmoil. Your home is not ….. as it was. We were at the _limes_ last year, remember?'

He set his jaw and looked woodenly at the table, letting the long hair hide his face. Here was another topic that was off the discussion table. Senna and his group had been stationed at the Danuvius frontier before and had heard tales of chaos further North, including the Sarmatian lands, but were too heartsick to tell much to the British knights. Their homeland was now the staging grounds for Hun and Visigoth incursions into Roman held territories, and there was no word of how native tribes fared.

'But you will be free,' she broke in, looking hopeful. 'Come to Rome, with us,' Tristan recoiled as though struck.

'Dani! Just who I was looking for,' said Eric as he plopped down on the bench next to her. Then he noticed the strained silence between the two and started easing back out.

Author's Notes:

River Tyne, flowing from West to East, formed the boundary of Roman province of Britania. Hadrian's Wall was built just to the North of Tyne. A number of settlements and fort towns grew on its banks.

Segedunum was a fort at the Eastern tip of Hadrian's Wall where the Tyne empties into the North Sea. A tributary of Tyne flows is only a couple of hundred yards from the Cilurnum fort. I imagine small Saxon parties coming inland through less guarded riverways such as Tees to farther South and attacking settlements between Tees and Tyne

_Limes_ refers to earthwork and roads built to connect forts and watch towers. Later the term _limes_ came to indicate the frontier or front lines.

Roman surgeons had few anesthetics and often operated on patients who were conscious and held down by helpers.


	22. Puppy Love

'Hello Eric,' Dani greeted him, automatically looking him up and down for injuries. He looked a little beat up, sporting a few bruises and a shallow gash on his lance arm, but no worse for wear. Tristan nodded. For once he was glad at the interruption. He needed time to digest all the new information and its implications. He picked up his spoon and stirred the cold, unappetizing remains of soup to give himself something to do. Eric straddled the bench, looking unsure.

'Um, what's on the menu?' Eric asked. Just then Two shyly joined them.

'The soup here is very good, almost as good as mother's,' she said. The scouts had chosen another tavern, so as not to run into friends.

'Bread and soup then,' said Eric, easing back in, still looking slightly uncomfortable at clearly having interrupted something. Two skipped away to tell the kitchen and Eric settled himself. 'Two said you were here.'

'You were looking for me.' prompted Dani, struggling to bring herself back from another place and time.

'My tunics need mending,' he said, clearly looking as though he expected her to do something about it.

'You are a man now, Eric,' she reminded him with a straight face, 'and responsible for the mending of your own clothes.'

'But I am not good at it!' this sounded suspiciously close to a wail.

'Take it to a seamstress on Needle Street,' she said, a little more curtly than intended. Mending on top of making potions was not what she needed.

'I can do it,' interjected Two shyly and blushed as two adults and one quasi adult turned to stare at her. 'I do so much mending for my mum.' The girl had returned and crept onto the bench opposite Eric.

'If you have time after your duties at the clinic, and after seeing if your mother needs help, you may do as you please,' the woman reminded her, still a little brusque unlike her usual amiable self. She was feeling raw from the earlier conversation and decided that it was never too early for the girl to learn discipline.

'I have some free time,' said the girl, 'almost every day.' Eric looked at her as if she was salvation. The woman shrugged. If the girl wanted to spend her meager free time waiting hand and foot on Eric, it was her choice. Food arrived soon after for the boyish knight. Tristan and Dani left the youngsters to their newfound friendship.

So it was that Eric came by the clinic with his mending and Two worked on them with meticulous care during her snatches of free time. A grateful Eric spent some of his off duty time with her telling tales he knew she wanted to hear while she completed her chores at the clinic – washing, drying and folding linen, wiping down work tables, scrubbing the floor, cleaning Percy's instruments and putting them away, stacking medicine containers, washing used pots and jars for Dani. He was pleased to find her an intelligent and attentive listener, and kept exaggerations to a minimum. Dani assured Vanora that she and the healers were keeping an eye on the two. Tristan thought it possible that some of the girl's maturity might rub off on the boy. Percy was heard to grumble that the clinic had become a lovers' retreat. Gault was heard to grumble that Eric would next take up playing with dolls. Dani and Tristan never returned to their interrupted conversation, having neither opportunity nor heart.


	23. Journey East

Author's note:

I am working on making Tristan fall in love with his adopted land, He is realizing that after fifteen years spent defending its borders, he has much to learn, and appreciate. And obviously he has some thinking to do. I am also working on spreading about Arthur's good name. So please bear with the slow pace for a while.

XXXXXXXXXX

Arthur's decision to send a party North was hastened by a new incident. A routine patrol of knights surprised a Saxon raiding party and the skirmish turned fairly deadly. The Saxon party had the advantage of numbers – there were eight - and the three knights had the advantage of being on horseback. Eric and Lancelot returned with a wounded Gault, who had taken a crossbow bolt in the thigh. The other two had lacerations, and Lancelot a dislocation, that still needed several days to recover from. They had been lucky. Some of the villagers had rallied to the knights and fought back their attackers, only two of whom got away.

Arthur called a meeting and decided to send a party East to visit the towns. Thus far terror had generated far more damage than actual attacks as villagers abandoned their fields and fishing for perceived safety of towns. He wanted the commanders at other forts along the Wall to organize regular patrols and villagers to cooperate with Roman forces. This far North the Britons were less Romanized and saw both Romans and Saxons as the enemy, which was part of the problem. He decided to send Senna as his spokesman and Tristan, along with Percy and Dani to help the wounded. Goodwill did more to gain cooperation than fine speeches, he said, to which Lancelot retorted that Roman goodwill had created much of the world's problems. They agreed to disagree.

Dani rode Bedwyr's mare. Sometime during Spring she had gone to see Mathis and bring back her filly, now named Darya, while Tristan was away. She had taken Eric on the trip and the two had become close once more. Tristan was glad. He liked the boy, especially when he was not around. He looked at Dani riding ahead of him with Percy and wished not for the first time that their own knotty problem were as easily solvable. Sometimes he thought nostalgically of the days when his life was uncomplicated, and the only female he was attached to the hawk now sitting on his arm. As if she sensed his thought, she squawked at him and he murmured something soothing to her.

Over the next few couple of weeks, they worked their way East keeping the Tyne in sight, the comforting outline of the Wall and occasional watchtower in far distance, and eyes peeled for either Woads or Saxons. Tristan had the ominous premonition that it was just the trickle before the flood, as if the Saxons too knew that Roman hold on Britain was weakening, leavings its population ripe for pillage. From Senna's accounts, everywhere Rome seemed to be giving ground. At one time, Tristan would have felt fierce satisfaction, but now he felt unease. Order, no matter how harsh, was giving way to anarchy. Occasionally the hair would rise on the back of his neck as though the land itself was watching, and berated himself for entertaining fantastic notions.

It was a slow journey despite the relative shortness of distance. They stopped at villages to offer help and ask for information. The villagers were wary and distrustful at first but Percy's gruff ministrations and Dani's cheerful help did much to disarm them. The party reached Segedunum in two weeks, after brief stops at the larger towns along the way, Corstopitum and Pons Aelius. They crossed the wide wooden bridge at Pons Aelius over the broad mouth of Tyne on their way to Segedunum. It was this that Arthur most admired of Rome – efficiency and ingenuity; Tristan thought as he unwillingly admired the structure.

Percy noted gruffly, and briefly, how inadequately the towns were protected. All along the Wall, ranks of auxiliaries had been thinning. The slow pace of the journey gave Tristan time to reflect on something he before only noted in passing – farmers tending their fields, flocks and orchards; it was a bountiful land he realized. He felt a strange pang at the thought, suppressed immediately, of leaving it to ruin.

When at last they reached Segedunum, it was a rather weary party although they had encountered no hostile forces. Tristan thought darkly he would rather be fighting living, breathing foes than have this constant feeling of watchfulness. He was a man of action and felt hemmed in. He decided to leave the party at Segedunum after a day or two and ride to Arbeia. He longed for some time alone. He wanted to ride away and leave behind the fateful decision that was looming ever closer.

Segedunum welcomed Arthur's knights. A large number of refugees had gathered in the extensive village outside the fort. Percy and Dani became busy at the clinic building that had a few native healers. Percy and the healers quickly became heatedly opposed in their treatment of the wounded. Percy called them quacks and they labeled him a butcher. Things went downhill from there and Senna was hard pressed to ease tensions, with help from a reluctant Dani.

Tristan left them to it. He rode back through Pons Aelius past Arbeia on to the cliffs overlooking the North Sea, fiercely letting his horse gallop, watching his hawk fly free, breathing the salt-scented gusting breeze, hearing the pounding surf and feeling suffocation melt away. This was how life should be – free - the way he remembered it being back home.

Then he forced himself to think objectively of going to Rome with Dani, and the others who would return with Arthur for the next four years. The feeling of suffocation and vileness rose once more. Italia was the center of the Empire, the center of being enclosed in politics, intrigue and treachery. Life, and the cleanness of open country, was at the edges of empire; life that would be empty and aimless without the woman he loved. He squinted over the whipping waves and willed a boatload of Saxons to appear so he could kill them. After a day and a night spent under the sun and stars, he was calmer though no closer to a decision. With a token stop at Arbeia to talk to a pitifully small number of auxiliaries guarding the dock, he turned back to Segedunum.

Author's notes:

Corstopitum is modern day Corbridge on river Tyne, and Pons Aelius is modern day New Castle. Both were built to guard river crossings at the Tyne. Pons Aelius had a wooden bridge over the Tyne whose masonry piers still remain.

Segedunum is modern day Wallsend, the Eastern most fort on the Wall.

Arbeia is modern day South Shields. It was the maritime supply fort for the Wall, occupied until Romans left Britain. Arbeia supposedly went out of use around 400AD.

Darya means preserver in Persian

'Life was at the edges of empire' bit was inspired by my readings on permaculture, particularly 'Garia's Garden' by Toby Hemenway. Permaculture is a shortened form of 'permanent culture', and refers to designing a way of life with understanding of the limitations of natural resources and respect for balanced ecosystems. A term used in permaculture is 'edge' or 'boundary', i.e. where two systems meet. Diversity of life abounds near edges, say where forest meets prairie or pond meets land. Human settlements along edges of two cultures often have a dynamic missing at centers of civilizations because of the interactions between people of different background on equal terms.


	24. Caught Between Worlds

A tentative truce had been established at the clinic but the scout could see that being a buffer between Percy and the native healers had left Dani feeling frayed. She was talking to a recuperating cavalryman, propped up on a bed, whose face clearly showed his Briton heritage. A proud Briton mustache hung below a hooked nose, though his hair was cut short in legionary style. Blue eyes twinkled in a tanned face. Auxiliaries everywhere kept many of their own ways, thought Tristan, fingering his own beard. The man introduced himself as Nervic.

'Too much Roman to be a hunter,' he waved at his bandaged foot, grimacing. 'Stepped on my own trap.' The woman laughed, but not unkindly.

'That seems fairly common here. Having a Roman father, I mean, not stepping on traps,' she commented, eyes dancing with mischief.

'Aye,' he agreed. 'My father was Gaulish cavalry, Fourth Cohort of Lingones. He manned the Wall before me, lays buried beside it.'

'I take it you are Brigantes from your mother's side. Many of the townspeople are.'

'Votadini, from the North,' he replied. 'Born and bred on the Wall. Like most stationed here now.' Votadini lived North of Segedunum and Brigantes territory was to the South.

'Many auxiliaries are being recalled, even from Segedunum.' Dani said. The man's expression became guarded.

'I have seen housesteads here North side of the Wall. Do you not have trouble from Woads?' Tristan interjected, changing the topic. The man laughed at his question.

'The Picts drive a hard bargain for their furs and skins, if that's what you mean.' He said. 'We don't normally have trouble with raiders here, unless it's a lean season. Say, do you wish to visit my home, when I am up? It's a little ways North and the hunting is good.'

Dani looked to him and Tristan thought for a bit. It would be a good idea to visit villagers to the North, and gather information for Arthur. Many of the Romans here were nominally Roman, born and bred on British soil. Just like Arthur, followed another quick thought. He nodded and excused himself. He had to talk with Senna.

The natural administrator was busy with the commander at Segedunum and his senior staff about readying the fort for Saxon incursions. Tristan called him aside and told him that he and Dani planned to make a trip North. He too was intrigued that here the Roman fort had no trouble from the Barbarians they were supposedly on guard against.

Early one morning a few days later, the two scouts followed Nervic, who had been granted leave. The man wore sleeveless summer tunic and _braccae_ of his people. Dani had returned to the light leather breeches and tunic she wore on journeys and when out exercising. Tristan wore leather armor. All three were well armed, it was requisite of their time.

Nervic's mother's people were hunters and trappers, he explained as they traveled inland away from the coast. His mother had gone back to them after her husband's death. It was beautiful country even though the scouts were doubly alert North of the Wall. There were more streams to cross and uneven terrain to navigate - excellent for ambush, thought the knight fingering his bow and casting a jaundiced eye at the scenery – and passage was slow. That night they had to camp. The hawk settled on a branch overhead.

They woke while still dark to a very distant noise of shouts and falling timber, audible only because the forest was still silent. The hawk made a bad tempered noise and flew down to her master.

'It comes from my village,' Nervic said tersely and started packing his bedroll in the pale light from a waxing moon. The other two followed hastily. Tristan sent his hawk flying ahead. The remainder of the journey was made in as much haste as they dared, riding over broken terrain, leading the horses over steep paths. Nervic led them through a short cut. There was light enough to see smoke and flying embers when they neared the village, and small figures running around. The horses neighed smelling smoke and hearing battle.

'Saxons,' gasped Dani. Even the smoke could not mask the familiar stink. They stepped up the pace. Tristan drew his bow and Nervic his _spatha_, the cavalry long sword. The two men galloped in cutting down raiders with arrows and blade, rallying to the help of a few men whose wooden hunting spears were no match for their attackers' steel. Tristan grimly targeted the crossbowmen first. Women ran around frantically trying to gather children and douse flames while evading indiscriminate blows from marauders. There was noisy chaos.

Tristan swerved to avoid trampling a running child and nearly fell off his horse. He dismounted swiftly, drew his scimitar and slapped the mare away from danger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dani dismount and run towards a Saxon, blade flying in front of her. Of Nervic there was no sign. Smoke made his eyes water and he blinked, nearly missing the fur-clad Saxon who came at him swinging an axe. Tristan stepped out of the way just as the child, screaming in panic, ran into the Saxon and unbalanced him. The man cursed, shoved the child away and righted himself to face the knight. In that split second, Tristan had gained his bearings and cut down the man even as he was raising his axe. The next few moments were a blur as he went after Saxons while dodging stray children and dogs; the raiders viciously cut down anything that got in their way. Burning timber fell in roaring showers of spark and heat seared the combatants. At last the scout paused for a moment, panting heavily but free of attack, and looked for Dani. Pushing damp hair out of his eyes, he spotted her at a distance.

She was backing away swinging one of the blades in front of her, from a large man who was coming at her with a vicious long handled axe. He snarled dismissively at her meager blade and swatted it away with his axe. The blade with the trailing cord caught around the axe and he pulled her towards him with a triumphant roar. Tristan started forward but something slammed into him from behind, making him stagger. A wicked little hand ax protruded from his left shoulder and he turned to see the grinning face of his assailant. The grin disappeared as Nervic appeared from behind and thrust his sword into him.

It had all happened in a split second, for as Tristan looked back towards Dani, the large man was still pulling her to him. She reversed direction, hurtling towards him and causing him to lose balance, even as she was drawing a dagger with the free hand. The cord wrapped around the axe hampered his right hand and the woman slammed into him, butting his nose and stabbing him in the neck repeatedly with two blades, ignoring the man's left hand that grabbed at her skull. Tristan saw the man fall as he too crumpled and fell. Darkness swallowed him but there was still no pain, just a heavy weight pulling him down.

Author's note:

Segedunum is modern day Wallsend, literally Wall's End. Fourth Cohort of Lingones of Gaulish origin were stationed here towards the end of 4th century. Later recruits were increasingly of British origins, like our fictitious friend Nervic. In some cases, local people banded together to form militias that manned the defensive outposts.

There is evidence of extensive native settlement both North and South of the Wall here, unlike most other fort towns.

_Braccae_ – woolen pants


	25. The Druid

Author's note:

The fall of Roman Empire haunts our imagination. It collapsed over a period of centuries from mid 100s to late 400s, splitting into two around 285 AD.

Archeologist Joseph Tainter in his 1982 book 'Collapse of Complex Societies' gives a fascinating insight into the reasons why empires collapse. His theory boils down to this: empires collapse because they consume their resource bases – natural, mineral and human - while increasing societal complexity. As resources dwindle, complexity becomes harder to maintain, and the empire withdraws from edge provinces difficult to defend against barbarians, e.g. Britain. Often an empire splinters into more manageable territories. Contemporary thinkers comment on the parallel of our society's increasing consumption of dwindling resources from around the globe to maintain complex systems.

It is my interest in this subject that draws me to movies like King Arthur, and is therefore the reason I am writing this story. I am also deeply interested in how individual persons, like the characters in this story, respond to living in 'interesting times'. Ok – lecture over. Enjoy the story!

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Tristan decided he was not dead. If he were, he would not have the insistent throbbing in his left shoulder that almost drowned out various other aches and pains – smarting gashes on arms and legs, a soreness under one foot from stepping on ember and a burning sensation on his right side, probably a stitch. Something had been applied to them, he determined through a fog, because the aches were somewhat dulled. He started to remember the battle, the heat and the screams. It was much quieter now and he strained his ears. Two voices were speaking in low tones on the other side of the small room. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked trying to focus. Dani was engrossed in a conversation with an old man.

'The legions left in my father's time,' the old man was telling her in a voice that was not frail. 'Now so are the auxiliaries.'

'Arthur believes that there will be reinforcements,' Dani said, as though trying to convince herself.

'Empires are born. They expand, they decay and then they die. Rome has long been in decay, and now it abandons its provinces to wolves,' the old man said. 'You should know this, daughter of Persia, you who come from the graveyard of empires.' She said nothing in reply to contradict him.

'It is not the first time you have heard such talk,' he interpreted her silence correctly.

'No, it is not,' the woman said slowly, nodding in confirmation. The old man waited patiently for an explanation, and so did Tristan, quietly from his corner.

'Among my people there are wise men called magians,' said Dani slowly.

'Druids,' said the old man, nodding.

'Charlatans,' interjected Tristan coldly from the corner where he lay, unable to keep quiet any longer while the old man manipulated her thinking. The scout was a man who lived in the physical world, not the metaphysical.

Two pairs of eyes turned to him and he struggled to sit up. Dani firmly pushed him back down, careful not to touch the shoulder that announced its displeasure by erupting in fiery pain. Tristan lay back down with a sharp intake of breath. He didn't take his eye off the man though, he couldn't. The old man – clearly a druid from the crescent moon on his forehead – had a piercing gaze and look more ancient than his age would suggest. He held himself with a power and self-assurance that belied his plain clothes. And his eyes clearly showed something else – he grieved, perhaps for more than the losses at the village they were in.

'Peace, knight,' said the old man in a conciliatory tone. 'You fought for our people.'

'And he tended your injuries,' added the woman.

'What do you do here, old man?' Tristan asked, voice still cold.

'I come to offer aid to my people,' was the calm reply.

'Your people?' Tristan's question was sharp.

'All Britons are one people, knight of Arthur, even those who adopt this land as their own.' said the old man. 'What brings you here?'

'Arthur sent us to help those harmed by Saxons,' said the scout evenly while experimentally moving his shoulder. It protested again so he stopped. He could see the old man did not miss it the slight movement or his wince of pain.

'And when he leaves Britain?' asked the old man. 'Who will protect them?' The scout had no answer.

'Even if he stayed, he can only protect the Wall, a stone rubble,' the old man continued. 'More invaders will come from across the sea. You know this.' Tristan was silent again, he too believed as much.

'Britain is more than a frontier to quarrel over, knight. It is living, breathing land that succors all who belong to it,' the old man said, sounding ineffably sad.

'The magian said once Persia was like this – green and fertile,' Dani broke in, speaking more to herself. 'And now it is rocky and arid. The free tribes blame the empires' greed and so keep to themselves. They say it is the truth.'

'I can see you are up,' said Nervic cheerfully, holding aside the curtain that served as a doorway and sticking his head inside. The old man stirred.

'Rest,' he told the knight and gave the woman a long measuring look before shuffling outside on legs gone stiff with sitting.

'How are you feeling?' Nervic sat down on a low stool while the woman poured Tristan some water. He was limping again and sported bruises and cuts, but looked healthy otherwise. Tristan looked over carefully at Dani now that conversation was over. She had salve plastered over a discolored bruise where the large ax-man's hand had gripped her head. She smiled at his scrutiny and held up an arm that was bandaged in linen.

'I'll live,' she assured him.

'Thanks,' Tristan told the cavalryman. The man shook his head.

'No thanks between brothers,' he said gruffly. 'You defended my family.'

'Are they alright?' asked the scout.

'They are alive,' the man answered. 'There were eight of them, the Saxons. Not many, but we came just in time or there would be more dead. A grain store was fired. So senseless! There will be hungry this winter.' He looked pained at the thought. Now they would have to rebuild, Tristan thought, which was harder work than fighting.

'Shall I send some food?' Nervic asked, changing the subject.

'No,' Tristan replied. 'I just need sleep.'

'Rest then,' Dani said, tenderly laying a hand on his forehead. 'I must tend others.' She left with Nervic. Tristan closed his eyes. He willed to himself images of long grass untainted by blood, blue skies uninterrupted by columns of smoke and a horizon unbroken by long shadows of men with wicked curved helmets. The old man's words disturbed him more than he cared to admit. His rest was fitful.

It was almost a week before they could return to Segedunum. Tristan chafed at being bedridden but he had to let the shoulder set before he could ride. Dani helped the village women salvage what they could and tend the wounded. Nervic and the surviving men buried the dead, cleared rubble and shored up damaged homes. The cavalryman left earlier and took word to Senna. It was time to return to Badon.

Tristan tried unsuccessfully to keep his face impassive as he shifted on the uncomfortable clinic bed, trying to find a position that would not jar the mangled shoulder. The return from the village had renewed the pain. Then Percy insisted on opening the cloth bandage, removing the leaves, poking around, applying salves and rewrapping with fresh linen, all the while mumbling rude things about village quacks. This was yesterday evening. His shoulder had throbbed anew from the surgeon's efficient but ungentle ministrations. Only around mid afternoon the next day had it calmed down to a dull ache. Tristan missed Dagonet who was kind, gentle and blessedly quiet.

Dani came to see him, carrying soup and bread, and he brightened. She held the tray for him while he awkwardly finished his meal. Over her shoulder he spied Percy coming with fresh linen and he could not suppress a groan. Hazel eyes danced with merriment - she had not missed his pained expression at Percy's approach.

'Something amuses you,' he said darkly.

'You look unhappy to see Percy,' she replied, trying to suppress a laugh.

'Have you no feeling, woman?' he asked, annoyed.

'Well, you were the one who was itching for action,' she said, struggling between a laugh and a hiccup. 'Do you think I not know why you went galloping off to Arbeia?'

Author's note:

In case you are wondering, the old man is Merlin doing his best Lorax impersonation and learning about Arthur.

According to history texts, Roman legions left Britain in 410 AD. The movie is set in 452 AD, so I am guessing it was the auxiliaries – irregulars - who were still left by then.

Truth telling was a big part of ancient Persian religion. Culturally, punishment for lying could be severe.

Magians were wise men of ancient Persia. They were philosophers, teachers, holy men, seers, diviners, advisors to kings, arbitrators and physicians. They were respected by all and beholden to none. Celtic Druids served similar functions in ancient Europe.

Persia was indeed a graveyard of empires, which included:

Elamites 4000 – 550 BC

Achaemenids 550 – 330 BC

Seleucids & Parthians 330 BC – 224 AD

Sassanids 224 – 642 AD

There are two wonderful books that explain the demise of empires from an ecological point of view.

Dirt: the Erosion of Civilizations – David Montgomery

Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed – Jared Diamond


	26. Return to Badon Fort

They all left Segedunum some four weeks later with mixed feelings. Senna was pleased with the preparations that he had persuaded the fort commander to make. The man and his senior staff had become hopeful, even enthusiastic, about their prospects for repelling Saxon attacks on the town. They had begun working with local militias on nearby towns against the common threat to their collective security. Townspeople seemed to catch on the optimism.

Percy had grudgingly come to respect the local healers, and they him. He patted the saddlebag behind him carrying a number of new herbal preparations, and spoke with Dani about the need to have them committed to parchment.

Dani had made friends among the women, in the short time they had been at Nervic's village. Shared sorrow had made them closer than they would have been otherwise, so it had been a goodbye with invitations to return. Nervic had sounded apologetic that their visit to his village had been interrupted by conflict and asked them to stay for _Lugnasad_, the harvest festival in early fall. Dani invited him to Badon when he was off duty next. It was not such a long ride.

Tristan was more reserved. He had seen swirling Pictish patterns on the arms of more than one man in the village, and the old druid had clearly been a familiar, much respected figure among them. Again he had much to think about, and he was getting tired of challenges to beliefs he had clung to for more than fourteen years. He wished for the time when one's enemies were clear, and one never knew their families and friends. He tried to focus on the day of his discharge, which was coming up soon, but thinking about it brought to mind his unresolved dilemma. He glanced at Dani, again riding ahead of him. The hawk sat on a makeshift perch on the saddle in front of him in deference to his still healing shoulder.

'At least you'll be with me,' he told the hawk, but it was cold comfort.

It was a much shorter journey back to Badon, camping only two nights at villages they had stopped at earlier. They received warm welcome at both places. Dani tended Tristan's wound, which was almost completely healed. Despite the closeness, he could not bring up their interrupted conversation, or ask the dozen questions he had.

They clattered into Badon late one drizzly afternoon, wet and tired, and gratefully handed the horses to Jols and his new assistant Gilly, Bors' oldest. Dani had given him the gelding to care for; in return he could use the horse. The fourteen year old had been ecstatic, despite having to share the little horse with his younger siblings. He was diligent in its care and exercise, so the woman had left him in charge of the filly Darya as well. Jols noticed his natural aptitude and had apprenticed him in the stable. Tristan noticed the boy was tense.

'Mum's having the baby and Two's with her,' the boy said to Dani without preamble. 'She asked for you.' Dani frowned. Vanora was not due for another month, possibly two.

'Let her know I am coming,' she told the boy. 'Where is Dagonet?'

'Out on patrol to the West,' said Eric, coming out to give her a quick hug. 'With Arthur.'

'Then I am going with you,' said Percy. The surgeon unloaded his instrument kit from the saddle and headed for the clinic to wash. Dani followed. Tristan turned to the young knight.

'Where is Bors?' he asked. The boy shrugged.

'I don't know.' He said.

'Find him.' Tristan said and headed to the baths to wash and change. When he came out, Eric informed him Bors was not at the fort. With Two busy with Vanora and Gilly with the horses, Bors must be watching his other children, Tristan reasoned.

'Come with me,' he told Eric, and headed into town where he knew Vanora's home was. Percy and Dani had already gone.

'What for?' asked Eric, hurrying on coltish legs to keep pace with the other's long strides.

'Help Bors watch the children,' explained Tristan, suppressing a grin when Eric blanched.

It was hectic at the small and usually neat house where Vanora and her children lived. Moans of pain came from the back room where Vanora labored with Aili the midwife. A nervous Bors stood in the large living room surrounded by his anxious brood, Two downwards, wringing his hands.

'What can I do?' He asked Dani.

'Keep your pants on,' suggested Percy, unpacking his instruments.

'He said you should run along,' improvised Dani, looking meaningfully at Tristan. Just then Lancelot appeared and took one of Bors' arms.

'Come,' he urged the big man, steering him towards the door. 'It is for the men to celebrate a baby's birth. I know just the place.' He gave the scout a speaking stare over Bors' shoulder. Tristan knew what that meant. To keep Bors out of the women's way, they would have to get him drunk. When Bors was drunk, he was …. well, he was Bors. Where was Dagonet when he was needed? The scout suppressed a sigh and took the big man's other arm. Never let it be said that he let down a brother.

'Help Two with the rest,' he instructed a wide-eyed Eric, nodding his head to the gaggle of children, glad he would not be the only one in misery.


	27. An Exotic Province

Many mugs later, Bors was feeling even more expansive than usual. It was very late evening and the table was littered with pottery mugs and spilt ale He even tried his voice at singing. Tristan's ears were still ringing with the harsh braying. To keep Bors happy, the other two had imbibed a liberal share as well, and Tristan was feeling the effects. He was not a man who usually indulged. Fortunately they were at a tavern run by a former legionary, a man well known to and trusted by the knights. He tried to focus.

'I 'member the first time I kissed my Nora,' Bors began. 'She was such a sweet, innocent thing….'

'Yes,' interrupted the scout, not wanting further details, one more time.

'It was her first …. everything.' Said Bors happily.

'Sure,' said Tristan, though he doubted it. The vivacious redhead had been working at a bar for a year or more by the time Bors met her and she had had many admirers.

'So, what's with you and Dani?' Bors would never have asked Tristan point blank if he wasn't so drunk. 'We all wonder.' Lancelot turned a very interested gaze to the scout. Tristan choked on his next sip and sputtered.

'Now Bors,' said Lancelot in a lazy voice, looking steadily at the scout. 'Tristan is not like the rest of us. He doesn't have feelings.'

Tristan went still. As far as he knew, his relationship with Dani, if it could be called that, was still unacknowledged, except to Eric of course. He guarded his privacy fiercely and felt it was silly to announce one's tender feelings. He had no wish to amuse Lancelot, around whom he felt prickly. The charming, flirtatious knight had way too much interest in the woman the scout loved, and she flirted back too readily.

'They are going to Rome,' he said shortly, hoping that would preclude any more probing. He put down his mug and tried to clear his mind, raking back long braids with his free hand.

'Ah, Rome,' said Lancelot with satisfaction. 'That center of refinement and culture that Arthur cannot stop talking about. He has asked me to visit with him, many times. Now finally I think I shall accept.' He sent a sly smile towards Tristan.

The scout understood now what this was about. With their discharge less than two months away, Lancelot wanted to know where Tristan stood with the exotic Persian woman. If he did not claim her, the curly haired knight would, with all the considerable charm at his disposal. The fingers of his left hand tightened around the mug and sent a twinge to his shoulder. Lancelot's smile widened and eyes gleamed. He was more in control of himself, despite having imbibed about the same amount of ale.

'Rome?' asked Bors with a frown. 'You want to go there?'

'Rome has acquired a new appeal,' said Lancelot, shrugging and smiling at the visibly aggravated Tristan. Something flashed through the beleaguered scout's mind about wolves descending on abandoned provinces – who had said that? He realized he must have spoken aloud at Lancelot's next few words.

'An exotic province,' agreed Lancelot, licking ale off his lips, eyes gleaming in the torchlight and looking quite wolfish. 'Dark and lush. Makes a man want to put down roots, tame the land. Eh?'

'Where is this place?' asked Gault, easing himself in, favoring the still healing thigh.

'Rome,' said Bors, dripping disgust and scorn.

'Rome? Hardly dark and exotic,' said Gawain as he too swung his legs over the bench and ordered more ale, though it looked as though the three older knights had already partaken his share and Gault's too. 'We heard,' he added with a nod towards the big man.

'Does she know?' Lancelot asked the scout, quite enjoying himself.

'Does who know what?' Bors was getting irritated.

'Well, we'll find out since we're going there.' Gault said gloomily.

'Going where?' grumbled Bors.

'Rome,' said Gault. Thumbing a nose towards the big man he asked the others, 'So, any word?'

Tristan frowned and tried to focus on both conversations. He enunciated the next words carefully.

'No word,' he told Gault. To Lancelot he said coldly, 'I am going, with her.'

'Of course,' said Lancelot who was enjoying needling the usually stoic scout. 'As a friend.' Tristan wanted to give in to his irrational anger - and he faced it - his insecurity. After all, he had not made any commitment to Dani, and he knew that at this moment all his thoughts were visible on his face. He struggled to regain his composure.

'Where is he going?' asked a mystified Gawain.

'Rome,' said Bors. 'And don't ask me why.'

Right then Tristan knew he had made his decision, whatever he felt about the center of the empire. His glare would have made any other man quail, but it bounced harmlessly off Lancelot, who was still grinning and toying with his own drink.

'Great, so am I,' said Eric, arriving at the table. 'A boy,' he announced, grinning proudly as if he was the new father himself. Once again Tristan was grateful to the boy for the interruption. The urge to strangle Lancelot was getting too difficult to control. And he was suddenly in a hurry to lay claim to his woman. Carefully he stood up, trying not to stagger.

'I am going back,' he told the others and crooked a finger at Eric. 'Eric.'

'Dani is with Vanora?' he asked casually, shouts of congratulations to Bors drowning out his voice to everyone except the boy. 'I need to speak with her.'

'Back at the clinic,' said a grinning Eric. 'I am glad you are coming with us.'

'Right,' muttered the scout as it occurred to him that he would be stuck with the grinning puppy as well. The things men had to endure for love. He jerked a thumb towards the celebrations and said dryly, 'enjoy.'

When Tristan walked into the clinic, walking the two hundred or so yards from town with measured steps and a hand on his dagger for there were always brigands out looking to rob an inebriated traveler, it was quite late. The night sentries were on duty and torches burned low. Dani answered his knock on the clinic door and let him in. She had washed again and changed out of the soiled dress, and to him, looked fetching.

'Tristan,' she started, and then was enveloped in a crushing hug. He trailed kisses down her neck and caressed a shapely backside, smelling herbs and freshly washed hair. She tugged his hair and he drew back his head, smiling, to kiss her on the lips. He drew back his head even farther when she delivered a stinging slap instead.

'You have clearly spent far too long with Lancelot,' she said acidly, 'since you mistake me for a barmaid.'

'And you with Vanora,' said the scout, rubbing a bruised cheek, head quite clear now.

'You do not even ask how she is,' she accused him looking aggravated, and exhausted too he realized. He took her in his arms again.

'Alive, thank you for asking,' she informed him, struggling to be freed. He just hugged her harder until she relaxed.

'The baby was breech as well as early,' she told him. 'Vanora bled so much I feared for her life and so did Aili. Lucky that Percy was there and he knew what to do. He will stay there for the night.' No wonder she was spent.

'She will be alright,' he assured her and hoped so, they were all fond of Vanora and concerned for her children, Bors included. 'And the baby too.'

'My sister died like that,' Dani confided. 'That's when the magian came, but he could not save her.' Tristan just held her. His confessions would have to wait, he decided.

'You need rest,' he said, at last drawing back. 'I should leave.'

'Stay here, I need you.' She said and pulled him farther indoors. Now we are getting somewhere, the scout thought, grinning at his luck. His grin faded when they went into the large room where Percy saw his patients. Saddlebags, satchels and caskets were piled in a heap, still wet from rain. Jols must have dumped them there. Smell of wet leather wafted through the air.

'The medicine packages must be unpacked, sorted and put away for drying, or they will rot. I'll go get the kitchen fire going.' She explained. She looked at him strangely when he didn't move and gave him a sharp poke.

'Don't just stand there. I need your help.'

Author's note:

I hope you are enjoying all the fun at Tristan's expense and also the chapters alternating between seriousness and comedy. I thought it would be fun to have some competition from Lancelot.


	28. The Lion and the Lamb

Author's Notes:

Recey, Selene, Claire, Krystal, CeffylGynn,

A big thanks to all my reviewers. Really appreciate your taking the time to read my story and share your thoughts. I love historical stories, and all things Roman!

Here are the final chapters that lead up to the movie, all written in less than a month. Whew! After this I will take a break and attend to my life. Yes, I do have one LOL.

I wrote this chapter after reading a history text - 'The Story of Britain' by Rebecca Fraser. Julius Caeser visited Britain in 55BC and was impressed by the warlike and fearless Celts. It is a testament to their ferocity and independence that the Empire was never able to completely subjugate them and Britain needed a large military presence throughout Roman occupation, until about 410 AD. By the 450s, a post-Roman Britain was being invaded by Saxons, Angles and Jutes. By this time the Celts were thoroughly Romanized - literate, urban, courteous and defenseless without the Roman army. Invaders massacred descendents of the warlike tribes that so impressed Caeser.

Recently a friend was talking about how self-sufficient were the pioneers who colonized the West and how utterly dependent, and vulnerable, we have become to an industrial food system. Food for thought?

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The next few days went by in a blur. Arthur let the party returning from Segedunum after a month long absence to unpack and see to their personal needs before calling them all together. Everyone needed some time for the more mundane tasks of settling down – washing and mending clothes, repairing gear, tending to the horses needs etc. The knights also needed time to recover from the ordeal of Bor's baby's birth. Raucous celebrations had carried on until morning, not without casualty – Gault's nose had a bloody encounter with Gawain's fist in a scuffle - but all was forgiven since neither could recall the reason for it.

Senna immediately called together the trades that had been working on Badon fort in his absence to check their progress. He was a hard taskmaster but a fair one. The journey had offered him fresh ideas that he wanted to implement at Badon, and his enthusiasm was infectious. The auxiliaries who worked under him beamed with pride as they demonstrated the restored onagers and other fort defenses. The smithies, woodshops and leatherworks had been busy turning out armor and weapons, and the once depleted armory was now filled to capacity. He also oversaw the more tedious job of supplies for the fort, down to the writing material used by Arthur and the healers. He was happy to be back.

Percy shared with Dagonet medical lore, and old wives' tales, that he had learned on the journey once he and the local healers had learned to work together and organized the new complement of herbal preparations. With the help of Dani, the healers committed to parchment many of the processes. Both of them, by the demand of their professions, were meticulous and Dagonet had started to teach Two to write. Cuttings of herbs brought back from the East were gently transplanted in the growing herb garden in the clinic courtyard, tended vigilantly by Two. Roses bloomed in their pottery jars but woe to anyone who wanted to take one.

Dani tried to find time for her three horses and her friend Vanora between long hours writing and copying, cutting and pressing the finished material into booklets. She never said no to Percy, noted Tristan and had little time left to be alone him. To his further disquiet, Lancelot started visiting the clinic until the woman set him to work, cutting reed pens and grinding ink from kitchen soot & distilled fat. This had proved an effective cure for his chest pains, Dagonet noted with amusement. The clinic needed visiting hours for the female staff, Percy replied with derision.

Tristan took stock of fort security from his deputy. Attacks on grain shipments from South had increased, and supplies from the port at Arbeia had trickled to a mere token. Having seen the sad conditions at Arbeia, the scout was not surprised. Merchant ships were easy pickings off the coast. Provincial officials were increasingly reluctant to send supplies to the Wall because of the losses. He stopped at Cunomori's to drop off some repair work and talk to the apprentice. Silver denarii had become scarce, the young man informed him with a smile.

This was a problem that was not just plaguing the merchants, Tristan knew, but the auxiliaries too. Some had been going without pay and prices were going up. Coins for wages coming from Rome had become intermittent at best. Desperation showed in the faces of the common soldiers. He was reduced to chasing down thieves and bandits, the scout reflected bitterly, until Dani reminded him tartly that she had been demoted from kitchen help to clerk and would he like to trade places? Life went on at the fort.

Arthur's next meeting went on long into the night. Senna talked about the growing cooperation between the forts and towns to the East and making the local population better able to defend their own. Percy corroborated; recuperating patients passed on a lot of information to the surgeon. There was a cautious optimism even the dour surgeon did not miss, and gratitude for Arthur's generosity. Tristan quietly mentioned the fact that common soldier were not receiving pay and this was leading to desertion and thievery. No one mentioned he was leaving, that they were all leaving. Arthur loved his mother's country and he wanted to leave it able to defend itself in his absence.

Arthur's smile disappeared at the next report from the scout. Segedunum was clearly a haven for Woads, mortal enemy of the knights. He went still at the description of the elderly druid, looking down on the parchment in front of him, smoothing a wrinkle. The rest of the knights shifted uneasily. They were sensitive to Arthur's moods. The commander of the knights did not raise his voice nor threaten nor resort to violence, but he did not need to do any of these things for his men to know when he was angry. He was now. There was silence once Tristan stopped speaking. Dani broke it at last.

'Arthur, the Saxons do not discriminate who they kill,' she said. 'The tribes are one people in this, regardless of whether they live under Rome's rule. I should know.' Arthur looked at her questioningly and the knights leaned forward. They were always curious about her, and knew tantalizingly little. She took a deep breath.

'My tribe is one of the free tribes that live along the South shores of the Black Sea. We are the buffer between Romans and Sassanids, and are hunted by both. Yet our tribes quarrel and sell each other's children to enemies. We fight with our kin in the cities and weaken them to Rome.' Her voice was low with pain and shame. 'When you leave, Britons will fall prey to Saxons and whoever else comes to plunder if they are not united. Will you let your pride stand in the way?' Again there was silence. Arthur looked at her with narrowed gaze. She swallowed but refused to look away. This time Tristan broke the silence.

'I have heard of raiders from the West also, Hibernia. It is said that they are aided by Dumnonii across the Wall.'

'Let Rome look after Britain.' Cut in Galahad impatiently. Freedom was so close the knights could smell it, freedom to leave Britain to its troubles. Arthur turned that disquieting gaze to Galahad.

'Arthur, it's not our problem,' stated Lancelot emphatically, leveling the leader with that curiously intense gaze devoid of lightheartedness that came to his face whenever he clashed with his best friend over matters of principle. Lately this had been often.

'Until the day we leave, we are the representatives of Rome,' the reminder was gentle, but no one missed the steel in Arthur's voice. Galahad shut up. Lancelot sighed audibly. This particular conclusion to their heated discussions was nothing new either.

Arthur turned to the others and nodded for their input. They did, heaving a quiet sigh of relief. The Western forts as well as towns increasingly relied on local militias for defense, said Dagonet, and in absence of Roman coins, relied on trade and barter. He had been offered piglets and chickens by patients, he reported with a straight face, generating a round of relieved chuckles. And yes, there had been raids to the West as well. Senna said that the auxiliaries at Badon had asked for land to farm and graze as a supplement to their patchy income. It made better sense too, he argued, given the raids on grain shipments. Auxiliaries and mercenaries in Roman service increasingly needed to barter for services with the locals and needed to be on good terms with them.

Arthur listened to everyone in silence and finally called an end to the meeting, motioning Tristan and Dani to stay. The younger knights were grateful, already missing the nightly drink of ale and wanting to get away from Arthur in his current mood. Lancelot took one last look at the three remaining and left with a mocking bow.

The two scouts moved closer to him once the others had filed out. Dani looked defiant. Tristan was reminded of her first day at the fort when she didn't know if she and her friends would be allowed to stay. She used defiance and wit to mask her fears, he knew that now.

'The old man you were so impressed with,' Arthur informed them quietly, 'was Merlin.' Tristan stirred, surprised. Dani looked blank.

'Merlin was responsible for the attack on my village, when my mother was killed.' Arthur went on evenly. 'A village of Celts who had taken to Roman ways and married Romans.' Now she understood.

'You say we are the representatives of Rome,' she answered after another prolonged silence, no trace of mischief masking the earnestness in her face. 'Therefore I stand for the empire that enslaved me. You know this - you have the contract I made with Commander Marcus for my freedom.' Tristan was better able to hide his surprise this time. It was no secret that many auxiliaries, and increasingly mercenary soldiers, signed into Rome's service under duress. Arthur now looked sad. No matter how enamored he was of Roman law, culture and ingenuity, he was not blind to its vices or excesses.

'I have heard you talk about Pelagius, how he spoke of laying aside hatreds that divide peoples. If Woads wish to help the people of Roman Britain, do you wish otherwise? Perhaps even they see the error of their ways.' She said, willing him to understand. Disregarding Arthur's cold glare, she plunged on.

'Merlin said to me that Britain needs the lion and the lamb, warrior and nurturer, to survive. Celts have been living too long under Roman protection to now survive without it. They plow the soil, but not know how to defend it.' Dani made her case and sat back, wrung out.

'The Picts treated us with courtesy,' added Tristan slowly.

'You have given me much to consider,' said Arthur with a thin smile.

'Believe me,' said Dani, at ease now that he was no longer in that cold, angry mood, 'I did a lot of thinking between being booted out by my tribe and finding my new family.'

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Author's notes:

Yes, Arthur is getting a bee in his helmet about cooperating with Merlin.

Rome withdrew its legions, whose pay fueled the economy, from Britain around 409-410. The economy fell apart when Roman coins stopped coming. Prices increased, people were jobless, city services were cut. Sound familiar?

Oxford History of Roman Britain by Peter Salway touches on the mixed economy that was underway in cities by mid-4th century AD, featuring urban farming. He estimates that coinage was no longer 'a normal means of exchange' by 420 or 430, and links 'the collapse of mass production industry with this phenomenon'. Compare to the current revival of urban farming, mixed-use development, cottage industries and citizen engagement in creative response to a weak formal economy.

Towards the latter days of empire auxiliaries, even mercenaries from among the natives e.g. Celts, manned frontier forts. Feudal militias occupied abandoned forts.

Hibernia is Ireland. Dumnonii are unconquered Scottish tribe Northwest of the Wall. Roving bands of Attacotti, believed to be from Ireland, carried out raids in 3rd and 4th on Romano-Celts. It is believed that the Dumnonii aided them.

Literary works on parchment were often written using upper case letters, called uncial writing, a long and laborious task. Parchment and papyrus was handmade and therefore not easy to come by so one presumably could not make many mistakes either.

In the wake of Roman empire's withdrawal from Britain, a lot of localization is going on. Translate that to the local food movement and back to the backyard in our current times in response to weakened economy, inclement weather and fuel prices!


	29. An Unexpected Visitor

Dani was unusually subdued in the weeks following her admissions to Arthur and the knights. There were things she was not proud of that she had felt compelled to bring up, and now she became withdrawn. Tristan looked forward to their daily rides every afternoon as it was the only time they were able to spend alone. Later they watched Gilly working the still skittish filly on a lunge line while Dani mended her chanokh, Tristan fletched arrows and Two sewed, tedious unending tasks made easier by company. Two took over Dani's mending, to let the woman rest her tired eyes. Galahad snickered that Tristan looked like a contented patriarch, lacking only a paunch. Tristan fixed him with a cold stare and the young knight shut up. Despite Dani's moderating influence, the scout could be unpredictable if angered.

Leaves turned color, fruits ripened and the day of their release came closer. Tristan knew when _Lugnasad_ arrived although its celebration in the fort and in town were muted. He took Dani, Two and Gilly to a tavern that served festival cakes, apple cider and put up a juggling show for the customers. Two beamed with pleasure at being waited on for a change, Gilly tried to act older than he was for the benefit of the serving girl, and some of the sparkle returned to the woman's eyes, but still the scout waited for a better time to tell her of his decision.

Harvest was a festival of those who worked the land. For the first time in many years the scout wondered how it would be to be so intimately connected to it. His own people were hunters and herders and if he ever returned to Sarmatia that would be the livelihood he would expect to return to. True he and the others hunted from time to time, but it was sport. They did not live off the land the way his people did, like Nervic's mother's people did here. As if conjured by the very thought, Nervic himself turned up on their doorstep, or rather the fort gate, one morning a few days after the festival.

He had decided to take up the offer to visit Badon, he explained cheerfully, and also that he was actually on duty, escorting a party of traders from East to the towns at and around Badon. Dani greeted him warmly and invited him to the tavern for dinner. The knights were interested to meet him, having heard about Tristan and Dani's eventful visit to his village. Dinner was more boisterous than usual that night. Vanora served roast fowl, a special treat.

Nervic, true to the Celtic traditions of his mother's people, was an engaging and entertaining guest. He retold the tale of the battle in his village, eyes twinkling while recounting vastly embellished account of a certain heroic foreign warrior woman. Two listened round eyed about her idol's prowess, and the British knights were impressed, having never seen her actually fight except for Tristan. Dani blushed a darker hue and became even more flustered at Lancelot's outrageous attentions. Tristan frowned. He had realized now that Lancelot's interest in her was more than passing. The man was obviously not losing time making plans for his retirement.

The woman desperately wanted to turn the attention to something else. During a lull in the conversation, she asked if there was anywhere close to visit during a leave, usually not more than two or three days. Nervic was instantly diverted.

'Funny you should ask,' he said. 'One of the party I am escorting has been talking about the circus that is due to visit Eburacum soon. I hear many are planning to travel South to see the show.'

'Gladiatorial combats,' said Gawain with disgust in his voice. Dagonet shook his head and Galahad had a look of aversion as well. They too were slaves of the empire, but gladiators were the lowest of the low, forced to fight for a crowd's entertainment. A strange look crossed Dani's face.

'No, nothing like that,' Nervic hastened to explain. 'Sham fights, some animals, clowns, acrobats, jugglers. I have seen the troupe once, long ago, although it has probably changed. They're always adding new acts. In fact, I hear this year they have a couple of ostriches, imported all the way from Africa!'

Dani choked, Gault snorted, Senna hid a smile and Percy looked up from his food. He usually sat apart from the noise but today he was at the table in Nervic's honor.

'What's an ostrich?' asked Galahad.

'Ask Dani. She has been nose to nose with one,' said Gault maliciously. 'Eh, Artemisia?'

'Ostriches are very large birds, the size of a pony.' She explained, having recovered quickly. 'They cannot fly but run quite fast. My people hunt them on horseback.'

'I hear they have a vicious bite,' quipped Gault gleefully. 'And kick like an ornery mule.'

'You should know about ornery mules,' cut in Percy, looking meaningfully at Gault. The knight stopped smiling and shut up immediately. Eric laughed and Dani shot the surgeon a grateful look. Senna coughed and asked a question of Nervic about when the circus was expected. The British knights shrugged at the cryptic byplay and returned their attention to Nervic. Tristan did not miss Percy's curious intervention or Dani's look of thanks, and wondered what it was about ostriches that agitated her. That she had once been a slave, even for a short time, had been news.

The party continued late into the night. Percy and Senna excused themselves and returned to the fort. Tristan ears buzzed but had no wish to leave Dani to Lancelot's relentless onslaught. The man had planted himself on her other side and Tristan turned his head to hear something about 'a balm for chapped lips.' The charming villain kissed her fingers and sent a wicked look towards the impassive scout on the woman's other side, while she laughed and hiccupped. Flustered by all the attention after her long period of withdrawal from gaiety, she had drunk more ale than accustomed to. Tristan's dark eyes glittered at Lancelot, knowing where the man wanted to plant his chapped lips.

'Ah, I should turn in,' Bors said regretfully, catching a meaningful look from Vanora. It was way past baby's naptime. Baby Eleven was in the kitchen with Four, his second oldest sister, nine year's old.

'Naptime for old men and babies,' Gawain guessed cheerfully.

Bors left the tavern to a chorus of good-natured laughter with his brood of children, leaving behind only Two to help her mother clean up. Dani yawned and Tristan took her elbow, shooting a warning glance at Lancelot.

'Didn't you say you had errands to run in the morning?' She had shifted weapons practice to very early hours so she could devote time from morning to noon to her new clerical duties. She had begun visiting various friends in town also. Arthur had found her valuable in diffusing tensions in the melting pot that existed on the doorstep of every Roman fort. She was friendly with womenfolk who cooled their men's heads.

When they returned to the fort, Percy was at the clinic - preparing a batch of herbals for hangover, he informed them gloomily. He'd rather have them ready now before the morning rush. Dani laughed and offered to help. The scout narrowed his eyes and lingered at the door.

The surgeon, who was in his late thirties, was not exactly like a father. This evening was not the first time he had observed closeness between the two, and to his heightened senses it verged on intimacy, something he himself had been chafing at being denied. The scout cleared his throat and inclined his head, tired of games. She looked puzzled, but came away to the courtyard.

'I had too much ale,' she said ruefully and hiccupped

'Percy's prepared for that,' Tristan said more sharply than intended.

'Good old Percy,' said Dani, laughing. 'He has a good heart, in spite of himself. I was going to Sarmatia with him, before I met you.' It was the wrong thing to say.

'You must mean Lancelot,' Tristan sounded waspish even to himself. Dani looked at him.

'You cannot take Lancelot seriously Tristan,' she said reasonably. 'No one does, not even Lancelot.'

'And Percy?' asked the scout, long braids swinging jerkily and dark eyes flashing with anger. 'Is he your lover?' She was speechless with surprise.

'He jumps to your defense.' Tristan added furiously.

'It's good that he does for he saved me, not just from an ignoble death but from being an outcast without family or friends.' She hissed back, now equally angry. Too late the scout realized that he had offended her quite badly. No wonder she was sensitive to Percy.

'Dani,' he said but she had turned back. He realized that he still hadn't told her he would follow her to Rome. Once again he had managed to make her angry all because of Lancelot. How was it that the man could exploit his insecurities without even being there?

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Author's note:

_Lugnasad_ is harvest festival, celebrated on August 1 and dedicated to the Celtic god Lugh

Beast shows were popular in Romanized British towns

I hope you like the continuing tension with Lancelot. I thought he was the other interesting, shades of grey character in the movie, like Tristan, and it was sad the movie gave him so little to do. Tristan needs some growing up to do too!


	30. Arthurian Justice

A few days later, Arthur called Tristan to his office, a large disorganized room overflowing with scrolls, tablets, surveying instruments and esoteric objects next to the tiny cell he slept in. A musty smell permanently hung over the chamber, despite open windows. He was busy with the preparations for his own departure and that of his knights within a scant month or so. A thirty-something man with green eyes and a shock of messy hair, he looked more careworn than he usually did, the scout realized with a twinge of guilt. The fate of Badon and its inhabitants weighed heavily on him. Many civilians were slated to leave with Arthur's contingent, following husbands, brothers, lovers or sons across the English Channel to Roman lands beyond, many to Gaul and Germania and other close by provinces, a few hardy souls much farther, to Italia or even Sarmatia.

Arthur looked up from a parchment map of travel routes in Gaul and motioned him in. The table was littered with parchments and leaf tablets. The scout spied one that was a contract with a merchant ship.

'Senna and I have been deciding how to get our party to Rome,' said Arthur by way of explanation. 'There is a great deal of turmoil I hear, and we will have women and children.' Tristan's own problems seemed petty.

'I am coming with you,' he said, taking a deep breath.

'I thought you might,' Arthur returned, giving the scout a tiny smile and an appraising look. Tristan gave him an answering smile.

'Lancelot has expressed a sudden interest as well,' Arthur confided and Tristan's smile disappeared. Their leader was more perceptive than he seemed, the scout realized. He knew his men well and probably guessed the reason for Lancelot's change of heart.

'I have a mission for you, to Luguvalium,' Arthur said, returning to the matter at hand. 'I have been thinking over the things Dani said, you said.'

'Is she going?' Tristan asked and hid his pleasure at the affirmative. He wanted to sort things out with her away from the fort. He longed for the old days when the two of them went scouting alone, their friendship unmarred by tensions. The fort suffocated him and he longed for a gallop as he did at Arbeia, but not alone this time.

'Let us wait for the others.' Tristan mistrusted that thin smile Arthur wore, one that did not reach his eyes. He turned his head to see Dani and Lancelot walk in, the woman looking wooden and Lancelot speculative.

'It will be a diplomatic mission to Luguvalium, and you will take Dagonet,' said Arthur. 'Senna's initiatives of cooperation between local tribesmen and the fort men have been well received to the East, and here as well.' Negotiations were under way with landowning tribesmen to let retired soldiers farm their land as tenant farmers. Where most Romans had once returned to their ancestral lands after their many years of service, many in England were now opting to settle, especially if they had families. After twenty – twenty five years of service, a few were even grandsires. Many were in fact Britons themselves by birth, and not a few were estranged from their families after long service overseas. Senna had been pressed into service once more finding places for them.

'We're hardly diplomats,' protested Lancelot, grimacing. The ambidextrous knight followed a very different brand of diplomacy - that meted out by the ends of his twin blades. He didn't like Arthur's thin smile either.

'I cannot spare Senna, not with a month to go.' Said Arthur. 'But I want to make provisions for the men who will remain here so I am putting you in charge, Lancelot. I have every confidence in you.' Lancelot looked pleased and horrified at the same time, a comical expression.

'In all three of you, as a matter of fact, of demonstrating how one works out differences, forges alliances and forgives in practice as well as principle.' His bland tone belied what Tristan heard between the lines.

Finally the scout understood the thin smile – this was Arthurian justice. He looked at the man with new eyes and renewed respect. Despite having his head in the clouds and nose in parchment, as Gawain liked to say, the commander of the knights did not miss much. The scout recognized a directive when he heard one. This one was: settle your squabbles without fighting or causing dissension in the ranks and do it before you come and lecture me about Merlin.

Tristan agreed on principle too, but practice was going to be a thorny issue, he decided. Dani did not fail to catch the jab either; she flushed and said nothing. Lancelot was clearly speculating on what exactly he was missing but decided he liked being in charge, casting a look at the woman. It was going to be a long trip, the scout decided sourly, thoughts of a romantic excursion long gone from his head.

'Oh and one more thing,' Arthur broke into their reverie, as though he was not at all surprised with the unusually subdued manners of his subordinates. 'Eric and Galahad will be with you - to learn how to comport themselves and work with others. They need seasoning and maturity to temper their fighting skills. Good luck.'

It was going to be a _very_ long trip.

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Author's note:

Where papyrus was not widely available, such as Northern provinces like Britain, leaf tablets were used. They were more durable and were used for legal documents. Exmples have been found in Vindolanda near Hadrians' Wall.

Luguvalium is Carlisle, which was an important settlement near the West coast. It later became regional capital of the Carvetii tribe.


	31. A Warrior's Tale

Nervic suggested that the knights accompany his party to Vindolanda – they were leaving within a day or two – and part ways from there. Vindolanda was halfway to Leguvalium. Lancelot agreed, they could provide Nervic's party with some added security without losing more than a day at most, and they looked forward to two more days in Nervic's company. The going was slow indeed as the old Roman road that linked the fort towns South of the Wall was falling into disrepair. The loaded carts mired in mud several times and Nervic cheerfully cursed the British weather. Falling leaves littered the way and a faint mist that rose at dawn lingered even at midmorning.

The hawk enjoyed being out and Tristan felt his spirits fly with her even though he was not in speaking terms with his beloved who was riding ahead. No one had missed the new strain between them, and Lancelot looked like a cat that anticipated the canary, very soon.

Tristan rode side by side with Nervic in companionable silence, exchanging a few words now and then. He was glad to be at the rear. If the carts mired in mud or if they were attacked, they would ride ahead to defend. This way he could also avoid Lancelot's efforts at wooing Dani, Eric's looks of sympathy or Galahad's sly jibes though to most people he appeared uncaring. From time to time he glanced over the countryside, sharp eyes intent on finding anything out of ordinary.

'Mother wishes you would visit again,' said the cavalryman, drawing his attention. 'She said Dani reminds her of herself.'

'She does?' responded Tristan since it was expected of him. He liked the half Briton.

'My mother was once a warrior,' Nervic told him, and added laughing, 'Father said she gave him and his men a lot of grief before he married her, and more grief afterwards.' Tristan's eyes gleamed in appreciation and Nervic laughed at his own wit. He remembered the old dame, still an impressive figure in her early forties with piercing eyes, the swirling patterns on her arms half hidden by the sleeves of her dress. He wasn't surprised. She had stopped briefly to thank him before hurrying away to tend her tribes' hurts. She had obviously been a noblewoman.

'Must be quite a story,' Tristan said conversationally.

'Indeed,' replied Nervic, grinning with relish at recounting the tale. 'She was a beauty in her time and Father was not the only one who was shot through the heart. In fact that's where she aimed, but missed narrowly.' Tristan raised his eyebrows and waited for the man to continue. He was not disappointed.

'When he recovered he went after her and they came to blows several times from what I hear from my aunts. By then he was smitten with her but her father wished her to marry another, a warrior who wanted her also.' Nervic was grinning at his interest; it was obviously not the first time he told this tale to an interested audience. 'She was falling for him too, my Father not this other man. But she wouldn't leave Britain she told him, for he wished her to go home with him to Langres. He was from Gaul.'

'Really,' Tristan wondered suddenly where this was going.

'Aye, and she wouldn't be fought over either, she said.' Tristan's head whipped around, eyes narrowed. The cavalryman was still smiling the bland smile.

'Really,' repeated Tristan more slowly, convinced now they were no longer talking about the man's mother.

'She wasn't a prize was what she told him,' continued Nervic, as though unaware of the scout's scrutiny. 'And it's a good thing he listened, for she had a mind of her own, one that could be persuaded but never made up by anyone but herself.'

'I see,' Tristan murmured, for he clearly did see. He wondered with chagrin if he was as transparent to everyone, to Arthur certainly.

'And so your father settled here.' He stated, changing the topic.

'If he lived he would have,' was the reply. 'I hear you go to Sarmatia soon.'

'Yes, I do,' Tristan saw no point in telling the man his change of plans. He was way too perceptive as it was.

'Why to Sarmatia after fifteen years away?'

'I was born there. It is home.' Nostalgia made Tristan's voice hoarse. He looked away and composed himself. 'And you?'

'I was born here. I am already home.' Nervic affected to not notice the scout's momentary loss of self-control.

'If you are called to Rome?' Tristan could not resist a jab of his own. Nervic's face darkened.

'Looks like we're stopping for meal,' said Nervic, changing the topic and pointing ahead. The two of them had been riding rear guard, behind the slower carts. The carts were coming to a halt a little ways ahead and the other riders had already stopped under a few trees by the road where they would have shade from the light shower that just started.

'What else did she say, your mother?' Tristan pressed his advantage as they trotted to join the others.

'She said that sometimes a man dying of thirst refuses water because his eyes are affixed on a mirage,' said the cavalryman cryptically.

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Author's note:

Langres was a Gaulish city, home of the Lingones legionaries, in modern day France, sacked in 411 AD by Huns.


	32. Of Wolves and Goats

They camped that night in a clearing by the banks of Tyne. Clouds obscured the moon but thousands of stars winked overhead. A line of stars blinked steady reassurance in the horizon to the North – torches on the Wall on sentry posts. He wondered what it would be like to live without the Wall as a baseline of reference, to wake up neither on it nor next to its silhouette, to not be pulled to its safety. He did not like the shiver that went through him and pushed the thought out of his mind.

Dani had unbent a little and he did not badger her, mindful of what Nervic had said. He grinned; her aim with an arrow might be appalling but he was shot through the heart as well. She did not take kindly to either jealousy or possessiveness. She also took her duty to Arthur and loyalty to her adopted family very seriously. Qualities that are expected in a man, he realized with a start. He also recognized finally that she was unlikely to have her head turned by Lancelot. Tristan felt oddly peaceful hearing the night sounds and watching the hawk outlined on a branch overhead. He glanced at the shadow that was Dagonet keeping watch and willed himself to sleep.

The next day followed the same pattern and they expected to reach Vindolanda by nightfall if they pressed on, barring any mishap along the way. Tristan once again found himself next to Nervic, the cheerful half-Briton who was so full of cryptic advice. He wondered if there would be more today and grinned into his beard. He enjoyed the tongue and cheek conversation with the man.

They were riding a little ways behind the carts, which carried salt, salted fish and fish oils from Nervic's hometown by the seacoast. The rest were farther ahead, none of the riders wanting to be too close to the foul smelling goods. From time to time a breeze would carry the smell their way and they would breathe through their mouth for a few moments. The carts needed no defense, the knight decided, any bandit would be knocked out by stench alone. Nervic grinned at the pinched look on Tristan's face.

'Don't like fish?' the man asked.

'Not when it is raw and smelly.'

'In my tribe, when a man becomes a hunter, he must eat the raw meat of his first kill,' said Nervic, pleased at Tristan's expression of mild disgust.

'Was it good?' asked Tristan while scanning the horizon, wondering if it was the start of another story. The hawk flapped her wings and he let her fly. She didn't like the jolting ride for too long.

'Not very,' replied the hunter-soldier. 'But then my first kill was an old wolf that was plaguing my village so it was an occasion for celebration. Some winters we have more trouble than others.'

'Trouble with wolves?'

'Aye, devious nasty creatures they are,' replied Nervic, eyes ahead. 'Always looking for an unguarded ewe or lamb, even in high summer when there is plenty of game to hunt for in the forest.' Tristan followed his gaze to the front of the column. Rounding a bend Lancelot rode next to Dani.

'Indeed,' he agreed dryly, catching the drift immediately.

'Mind you they are not all bad,' said Nervic. 'They have uses, the vile creatures.'

'Such as?' asked Tristan, wondering if Lancelot would make a good pelt. He did not think anymore that Lancelot was a serious threat, just annoying. And the scout owed him.

'They keep down the vermin,' replied Nervic. 'But you have to watch them, so they don't get out of hand.'

'Indeed,' murmured the scout, pressing lips together. Nervic warmed to his topic.

'Sometimes we organize a hunt, if there are many, and drive them out with dogs,' the man recalled. 'But sometimes, if there's only one or two, we trap it. The women like to have a wolf skin to work on that doesn't have spear holes.' That sounded appealing.

'How do you catch it?'

'We use an old nanny goat,' said Nervic. 'There's always one or two in the flock that's past her prime. Big tits but no milk, one that always catches more than her fair share of attention what with all the bleating. Ever seen one like that?'

'Yes,' said the scout, amusement showing in his eyes.

'So, you have been to Luguvalium?' Nervic abruptly changed the topic and Tristan glanced at him with surprise. The man's face had the same bland look.

'No,' replied the scout. Dagonet had, many years ago and had been impressed. He had told tales of a walled city, a city within a fortress on the banks of Eden river. He looked forward to seeing it.

'Neither have I,' said Nervic. 'But my cousin's nephew has, several times. He trades in pottery, not the run of the mill goods, mind you, but the fine stuff. Ladies in Southern towns will pay dearly for them.'

'I see,' said the scout, though he did not.

'You will like Luguvalium. Interesting place, very interesting people.'

'Really?' The caravan trundled along to Vindolanda.


	33. Force of Nature

Luguvalium was a huge sprawling walled city on the banks of Eden river, North edge bordering old fortifications. The travelers saw its looming walls from half a day away. It was the home of the Carvetii tribe.

Arthur's fame assured hospitality of the city and respectable lodgings. Brother Paul, one of the Christian monks who ran a hospital, invited Dagonet to move there. The man was horrified at the thought of Dani staying either with the knights or at the hospital. Accommodation was arranged for her with the town's midwife. Despite teasing from Eric and Galahad, Dani preferred it as well. She was always at pains to clarify that she was not the knights' camp follower

Tristan, Lancelot and Eric met with the _Civitas Carvetiorum_ - council of Carvetii - the next day. The council members, elderly merchants and retired officials, wrung their hands and complained of the sad state of business since the auxiliaries left. They moaned about raiders from the sea and stoppage of grain shipments from the South. They grumbled about the cost of city defense and maintenance. Tristan was reminded of the lamb that Dani had mentioned, or sheep, he decided toying with a dagger. Lancelot looked ready to explode – all complaints were directed to him - while Eric and Galahad looked dazed. During a lull, Tristan cleared his throat.

'The city guards may benefit from our ideas of town defense,' he said to the Council. 'I can speak to them.' This was met with approval and Tristan duly introduced to Donal, in charge of the 'city guards' – a band of mercenary ruffians.

Over the next few days, Tristan advised Donal on the city's defense, drills and armaments as Roman soldiers were long gone from the city. Men were put to labor rebuilding damaged masonry. Soon the city guard looked somewhat professional, to everyone's amazement. The city's little prison overflowed with petty thieves; they gladly took the option of cleaning sewers and doing menial tasks in return for parole and food.

Dagonet's help and gentle humor were welcomed at the hospital. Brother Paul was surprised with Dani's knowledge of medical texts. She wanted to make copies for Percy of texts the brothers had. The brothers were happy to hear of one of their own among the knighthood. Patiently the woman encouraged the brothers into teaching rudimentary reading and writing to the town midwives, and admitting their female patients. The younger knights spent time teaching a few of the city guards how to restore onagers abandoned at the fort. Lancelot stewed in the council room, alone with the baaing sheep. Tristan gently reminded him that his task – that of leadership - was the supreme.

One morning Tristan took Eric aside. He had to pass on greetings to Nervic's acquaintance - a maker of fine pottery - and perhaps buy something for Dani. The boy was thrilled to be included in the errand, Tristan noted with affectionate amusement. Eric and Galahad had kept each other entertained on the journey, to the scout's relief. He kept an eye out for the hawk as they walked to the river. She had not liked the big city and the pressing crowds, and had bitten him in a fit of temper. Now she kept to the open country, appearing now and then.

The pottery workshop was down by the river where clay was plentiful. Workers in the courtyard were throwing pots and drying them in the sun – the ones for everyday use. The inner workshop made finer quality work. Nervic had not been exaggerating. The knights looked at the display, Eric with a great deal of enthusiasm at a beaker with a dragon handle that resembled a Sarmatian battle standard.

'You have excellent taste, young sir,' a female voice said. She was a tall red haired woman in her late thirties, regal and beautiful, every inch a Celt noble as Nervic had described. A beautifully wrought silver brooch held her plaid cloak in place and her hands sported several gold and silver rings, testament to her wealth. She returned Tristan's appraisal with interest. The scout smiled faintly. Nanny goat indeed!

'Nervic, uncle of Eagan, praised your pottery and sent regards,' he said, holding up a delicately colored ceramic beaker. She blushed with pleasure at a compliment from the handsome, enigmatic stranger.

'Such fine work no longer pays for itself, sir, and is too expensive to send South in quantity,' she said and added, 'I am Rigana.' She looked at them questioningly.

'I am Eric and he is Tristan,' the youngster was happy to do the talking, 'Commander Arthur Castus sent us from Badon Fort.'

'So I have heard,' returned the woman, looking speculative, 'talk of trade between the fort towns and such.'

'Yes,' Tristan said shortly, and added, 'your work would be in demand, milady.'

'Thus far trade between the fort towns has been hindered by bandits and Woads. Everyone knows this,' she said. 'Also the forts extract too much tariff, sir,' she added as if it was his fault. Romans extracted much wealth from local to run the forts.

'That's why we are here,' Eric said eagerly, 'to reopen trade.'

'A regular escort perhaps, and lower tariffs,' Tristan added offhandedly, intent on comparing two beakers and surprised at his own glibness. Nervic would be proud.

'I cannot imagine the council agreeing on a single such step,' she said sharply, watching him for reaction. 'That is a great many steps.'

'It takes leadership and vision,' he shrugged and let eloquent silence communicate that he did not expect much of either. Her green eyes showed shrewd calculation, and ambition frustrated by male chauvinism of the Romano-Christian council.

'This one,' said Tristan briskly, handing payment for a beaker and preparing to leave.

'Wait,' she said. 'I wish to expand my business. Is there one among you who can aid me?'

'Lancelot is always glad to help a lady, especially a beautiful one,' Eric proclaimed eagerly just as Tristan had expected. She blushed. 'He is the leader and has Arthur's ear.' Only Arthur had the authority that bickering towns and tribes would respect.

'The council meets this afternoon,' Tristan told her, 'if you are interested.' She was.

Lancelot was a brave warrior and faced death and injury in battle with equanimity. He was not prepared for another session with the bickering, whining councilmen. When Eric introduced the lady - dressed boldly for the occasion - to the beleaguered knight, he was grateful for the distraction. He did not think Arthur would appreciate if he started chopping heads, though he had left his twin blades back at the lodging fearing just such an event. He was delighted to receive the gift of a beautiful beaker with a dragon handle.

'Delicate and elegant, as yourself milady,' Lancelot oozed charm from every pore. Rigana was manna from heaven.

'My workshop is outside of town, by the river. You must visit,' she said. 'When you are done here of course,' she added with a wave towards the councilmen.

Tristan was amazed to see Lancelot's eagerness to get out of town. Shortly thereafter a visit was arranged. Rigana took a willing Lancelot firmly in hand, ignoring the council's shocked grumbles. A wealthy widow, she had no wish to miss a rare opportunity to advance her position. Nervic had described her as a force of nature. Lancelot didn't know what hit him. He was used to making conquests of barmaids - not intelligent, articulate, wealthy and determined noble ladies. His work done of foisting Rigana on Lancelot through an unsuspecting Eric, Tristan left the council.

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Author's note:

Luguvalium covered +/- 70 acres. It later became the regional capital of the Carvetii tribe, home to Christian missionaries and thriving center for commerce. Many retired Roman soldiers settled here with their families, continuing the Romano-Celtic intermingling. It was the site of a large cavalry fort, Stanwix, likely abandoned by end of 4th century.

A beaker is a drinking mug, narrow at top and bottom.

I hope you like Tristan's sly maneuverings!

Character of Rigana is inspired by Cartimandua, queen of the Brigantes tribe, who in 1st century AD became an ally of Rome.


	34. Calm Before the Storm

With just a week to go, Eric and Galahad invited Dagonet, Tristan and Dani to visit the old fort on the Wall. Lancelot was busy enjoying the sights of Rigana's villa, deep in 'negotiations', reported Galahad. She didn't let him out of her sight.

The lady had many ideas – good ones, admitted Tristan – and now she had a champion to enforce them in the council. A number of retired legionaries – Luguvalium had plenty – were found to escort trade caravans traveling between fort towns. In return the men were granted land to farm. The farms were already recruiting helpers and craftsmen. The brothers were persuaded to open a school of healing for paying students. Innkeepers looked forward to incoming travelers. The council came around quickly when they saw profit – money was the crux of all problems - and Rigana was admitted into the council.

Stanwix fort was built to house a cavalry regiment. In its heyday it must have held more a hundred horses and their riders, grooms and infantry, commanders and clerks, cooks and caretakers, workshops and workers. Everywhere lay signs of their occupancy and more than once Tristan felt the hair on his neck rise. He did not like the peculiar feeling of being watched when there was no one in sight. He wondered what Badon would look like after they left. It would be soon – their discharge papers were expected in less than two weeks. The hawk spotted Tristan and flew down with a glad squawk. He was happy to see her too and fussed over her a bit, giving her a strip of meat.

'Where have you been, girl?'

Eric asked Galahad and Dagonet to go for a swim in the Eden, a few hundred yards down slope. Naturally Dani stayed behind. She had no wish to inhibit their dip in the waters, she said. Tristan stayed, ostensibly to explore the fort and spend time with his hawk. Eric winked at him, the impudent puppy. When the three disappeared, the scout put his free arm around his woman and sat her down on an old stone step. The hawk grumbled a bit at having to share him.

'I know the feeling,' Dani informed the beady-eyed raptor. She produced a strip of meat as a peace offering. The bird eyed it for a while, and finally snatched it out of her fingers. Dani caressed the tattoo on his nearest cheek; only she knew it was the mark of his family. They sat together in contented silence.

It was peaceful a moment, one that Tristan would always treasure. A chill wind blew down the hill from North of the Wall where was cold already but Tristan didn't care. All was as it should be in his world. Everyone he cared about was safe. The mission was a success. They were returning to Badon within a few days and their discharge papers were on the way.

Before they had left the fort for the last time, a month before, Arthur had received word of a Bishop Germanus who was on his way from Rome with their discharge papers. Tristan had felt a frisson of unease wondering why a high-ranking member of the church would leave the safety of Rome and hazard the perils of long journey just to deliver some papers. It could easily be have been sent by a courier. Arthur had been confident it had to do with change in command of the fort and looked forward to seeing his late father's friend. The scout pushed the unease to the back of his mind and smiled at the woman.

'For you.' He gave her a package containing the beaker. The handle was the arched figure of a warrior woman, slim and dark, braided hair flying behind her and melding into the cup. Her eyes shone.

'I must meet this Rigana. I hear so much about her,' she remarked, eyes twinkling. 'It must have been your doing.'

'Not me,' said the scout, a picture of innocence. 'The brothers gossip?'

'Not the brothers, they only disapprove – of everything,' she told him. 'The midwives, however, are full of information. They meet women and women know everything.' Obviously the wench network was well established here too, thought the scout.

'Lancelot is Lancelot,' he said with a shrug. When they returned to Badon, the rascal would be the butt of many a joke, Tristan thought with satisfaction.

'I told you so,' said Dani. 'And Percy is my family.'

'He saved you from death by ostrich,' the scout said, holding her close. Lately she smelled of parchment and ink.

'You guessed that?' she sounded rueful.

'An ignoble death you said - Artemisia.'

'That was my stage name, or would have been,' said the woman, snuggling close.

'Tell me.' Tristan knew so little about her.

'Too embarrassing,' she said and added, eyes flashing with wicked challenge, 'only if you tell me something embarrassing about yourself. Bet you don't dare.' Tristan considered. She was one person he did not mind telling about himself.

'Bedwyr took me swimming - in the Tyne long ago. We lost …. our breeches fell into water. We could not return until nightfall.' They had skulked in the woods until dark, not wanting to walk through town without pants. Arthur's predecessor had not been pleased when the boys refused to disclose why they missed afternoon drill and they were assigned latrine duty for a week. He smiled faintly at the memory.

Dani chortled with glee and the hawk flapped her wings at the sudden noise. Tristan threw the restless bird in the air and watched her disappear. 'Now you,' he said, tugging her braid.

'You know that I was handed to a Roman patrol,' her face carefully blank now; it was not a good memory. 'The commander sold me to a small time _lanista_ outside of Constantinople who was looking for an unusual act. I was given the name Artemisia. While I was training to fight, I did hunt re-enactments – a sideshow.' She made a face now. Gladiators were of many categories. The highest ranked fought according to strict rules. The lowest were for base entertainment.

'To make a long story short, I was facing an ostrich. In the wild they run away but in the arena there was nowhere to run. The ostrich charged, Merak threw me and I had to fight an angry ostrich on foot. It nearly had me.' She grimaced.

Tristan imagined Dani facing a giant chicken and his lips twitched. They both came from proud warrior races and death that came in battle or hunting was an accepted part of life. Warriors hoped to die with dignity and honor, not fighting a giant angry bird in front of a raucous crowd. 'An ignoble death' it would be.

'Percy?' he prompted.

'Percy was in town with Commander Marcus. While the commander was in meetings, Percy helped at the local clinic where I was taken to be tended – from ostrich bites.' She looked at him to make sure he was not laughing.

'The _lanista_ was too miserly to have his own healer. Percy offered his day's wages for me. Audiences would not pay to see me in a serious fight, not after that ostrich. The _lanista_ still wanted a goodly sum, and the commander paid – from the treasury – thanks to Percy. Or I would have been a sideshow.' She shuddered in horror at the memory. While prominent gladiators could earn money and even win freedom, disgraced gladiators could be sold or thrown to animals - whichever was more profitable.

'I have seen terrible things in those six months. Two from our _ludus_ died of injuries,' she recalled in a subdued voice. Tristan held her close, guessing there were things she would not tell even him. They all had memories they did not wish to revisit, some more than others. 'I was not afraid to die, but I did not want to die like that, or live that wretched life. I was grateful to Percy, grateful for a place among the knights.'

'I will miss Britain,' Tristan decided to change the subject, hating to see her in low spirits. No wonder she always looked at the lighter side of life.

'Surely not the weather?' she asked, squinting at the threatening clouds and shaking off old memories like an evil dream.

'Rome is said to be sunny,' Tristan told her, watching her eyes widen. He was no longer at a loss for words, not after her confessions. He did not know when he would have her to himself again. He spotted the knights walking upslope, they would be here in a moment. Things unsaid for nearly a year came tumbling out.

'I am past thirty, lucky to be alive. I don't want to be alone anymore. I dream of having a family - with you. I will go to Rome and wherever else. Will you marry me?'

'Yes, Tristan,' she hugged him and laughed into his beard, neither caring that the knights were now in full view. 'I thought you would never ask. You are so slow.'

'Slow but steady,' Tristan reminded her. The knights came to stand before them. Tristan calmly locked eyes with each of them, daring them to mention the arm still draped around the woman.

'I missed the part before Rome is sunny,' Galahad prompted, staring with amazement at their stoic scout.

'Sound carries,' explained a smiling Dagonet. 'Downwind.'

'I love you too Tristan,' said Eric.

'Though you are too hairy for my taste,' said Galahad, still looking amazed, whether at Tristan's humanity or Dani's preference for the hirsute, it was not clear.

'A proposal should be accepted with a kiss.' Dagonet motioned them to continue, Dani's eyes dared him and, with a shrug, Tristan decided to oblige. All was well in his world.

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Author's note:

Finally, end to part one. Next installment will be set in the movie but first I will take a hiatus to recuperate.

_Lanista_ is someone who runs a stable of gladiators. _Lanistae_ could own a small troupe, or oversee for a wealthy patron. Gladiators were drawn mostly from the ranks of criminals, slaves and prisoners. Desperately poor free people also contracted with _lanistae_. Gladiators received food, lodging and medical treatment in return for fighting several times in a year.

_Ludus_ is a gladiator school. The trainees became a sort of family even though they could be set against one another.

There are some evidences of female gladiators, or _gladiatrix_. A stone carving from Halicarnassus in the near East shows two female fighters - named Amazonia and Achillea - posing in armor. Sometimes women and dwarves were sideshows, or arena fodder. Or they could be trained for staged fights. Most of my information from 'Gradiatrix' by Any Zoll.

Artemisia was a Persian queen and a successful general in Emperor Xerexes' army against Greeks.


End file.
